Children of Time, Christmas Episode: Compliments of the Season
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: Life at 221B has never been ordinary... and the girls' first Victorian Christmas will be no exception. Who would have thought Christmas greenery could cause so much trouble?
1. If We Make It Through December

**==Chapter 1==**

 **If We Make It Through December**

 _Maybe that's what we look for in the people we love, the spark of unhappiness we think we know how to extinguish…_

– Tom Perotta, Election

 _Mama want Mama want Mama_ _ **want**_ _ **Mama**_ _!_

Sally swallowed the lump in her throat, resolutely shutting her mind and the bedroom door on Kathy's cries of protest. Her tread on the stairs was heavier than she'd intended, but it didn't matter – her daughter wouldn't sleep a wink anyway until she'd finished voicing her outrage. Closing the sitting room door didn't provide much relief, either, those piercing wails clearly audible through the ceiling. _Okay, okay, deep breaths, just relax... Kathy's warm, she's comfortable, and she's got to run out of lung power eventually, right? She's just kicking up a fuss because she can – well, that, and she knows it upsets you..._

Beth rose from where she was sitting, reading an ebook on her phone, and winced at both Kathy's cries and the sound and sight of Sally's bad mood. Sally didn't really get upset or moody often, and when she did, Beth always felt like plastering herself to the nearest available surface to avoid contact. _Knock it off, she's your best friend and she's upset; quit being chicken. Offer help_. "Um... I could try to calm her down?" Beth said in a small voice. After all, it wasn't as if she didn't have the experience.

Sally hesitated, sorely tempted, then shook her head, flopping down into her husband's vacant armchair. "We can't stay with her every time, she's got to learn to settle on her own." John doted on their daughter to the point of indulgence in some ways, but he'd been absolutely adamant on that score. She held her breath as the wailing died away for a few seconds, then groaned as Kathy found her second wind. " _Why_ couldn't we keep the TARDIS?"

Beth cringed, wanting badly to go up and comfort the baby—she'd always hated hearing very young children cry like that. It hurt, as if the baby were being abandoned, and, hey, they didn't exactly know better. _Although Kathy just might_. "I think the Doctor might have had something to say about that..."

Sally threw Beth a Look: she really didn't need people being reasonable right now – not without chocolate, anyway! And _that_ was a distant dream until Kathy went onto solid food...

Beth sank down into Sherlock's seat, doing an impression of a robot folding up for storage. "That's why you've got me?"

"You wanna adopt?" Sally smiled faintly, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just..." Gesturing helplessly, "There's no parenting books for humans about this sort of thing! And believe me, I've checked!" Her phone was amazing, but it wouldn't let her search through any alien book collections.

"Awww, I know. Seriously, though... I could... keep an eye on Kathy if you ever wanna take off for a little while. I mean—" Beth gave a grimacing smile—"I think I know, but how long's it been since you and John went on a proper date?"

Sally's eyes widened – good question. "Umm..." Her hand went to her mouth, looking at Beth sheepishly. "Wyndham's Theatre?"

Beth winced—just as she'd feared. "Okay, so we definitely need to set up a night out for the two of you."

This time, Sally gave Beth a look of pure gratitude. "That would be wonderful!"

* * *

Sally hadn't expected anything to be organised before tomorrow night at the earliest, but it was only a few hours later that she was at the front door beside John, buttoning her coat over her evening gown and giving last minute instructions: "...and Mrs. Hudson's got more milk for Kathy if she needs it, but she should be all right till we get back – oh, and her new favourite bedtime story is 'The Pied Piper', she doesn't like 'Snow White' any more..."

Beth was making a valiant effort to keep a straight face. Poor Sally, but Beth had to either be amused or be driven crazy by her friend's relentless new mother syndrome. She had opted for amused... and Sherlock had opted for crazy.

Watson put a hand on Sally's arm, willing her to calm. "Darling, I'm sure Beth knows what to do." He cast a pleading look at the younger girl for help.

Beth bit back a grin at John's wide eyes. "Yup, we're good, don't worry," she said, and made shooing motions. "Go, go! Have fun!"

"Bye-bye, honey." Sally gave Kathy one last kiss, and finally let John pull her out the door.

The baby looked up at Beth, who grinned at last. "We'll have fun, won't we, sweetie?" Kathy gave her a little smile—Beth was really glad that Kathy was more trusting of her than Beth's own siblings at this age. Any one of her brothers or her sister would have been crying right now.

Holmes, meanwhile, had taken care to absent himself from the last-minute litany, and now peered down from the upstairs landing. "Is it safe?"

Beth shook her head and began to climb the stairs. "They're gone." She giggled. "John practically dragged Sally out."

Her husband sighed, but couldn't help smiling. "That could be you in a few years, you realise."

She paused, thinking of previous experiences within her family—and, for that matter, with the younger Irregulars. "...yeah, not gonna deny that one." She reached Sherlock and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Holmes's smile broadened at the kiss, returning it. "And I can only promise to try not to outdo you." He adored his goddaughter already; what might he be like with his own offspring? The detective paused in the doorway as Beth moved into the sitting room, struck yet again by the sight of his wife with a baby in her arms. _What, indeed..._

Beth groaned at the mental image of Sherlock being a neurotically worried father. "Oh gosh, you'd better not!" She didn't think she'd be able to live with that! She sat on the settee and cooed to the baby, "Yes, he'd better not, isn't that right, Princess?" She kissed Kathy's soft forehead, then looked back up. "You know this girl's favorite story now is 'The Pied Piper'? Silly girl—" Beth gently _booped_ her nose against the baby's—"that story doesn't even have a happy ending!"

Holmes had to smother a grin as Kathy frowned and stuck out her lower lip, giving the distinct impression that if she could fold her arms, she'd be doing it. "Well, not for the town..." His gaze went out the window to where the TARDIS had first appeared on Baker Street. _"You lose the wonder... unless you're sharing it with someone."_ Sitting beside Beth, he addressed Kathy softly, "Is that what you like about the story, Miss Watson? The Piper won't be alone any more?"

Kathy cooed softly, and Beth felt her heart _melt_. "You are an amazing little lady, Princess, you know that?" The baby smiled back at her, cooing again, and Beth couldn't imagine loving her own future children more than she loved her little goddaughter.

* * *

Sally stared unseeing out of the carriage window, nervously twisting one of her coat buttons until the threads creaked under the strain. Why had she agreed to this, she could have coped with a few more evenings in! If only John had let her bring her phone, it would have been fine on vibrate...

Watson decided to break the silence before his poor darling worked herself up into a frenzy of worry. "Sally," he said gently, taking her hand in his. "Kathy will be fine. Beth knows how to take care of her, and so does Mrs. Hudson."

"I know," Sally sighed, wishing she could at least sound convincing. "It's just... this really is the first time I've ever been out of shouting range." She hadn't appreciated just how much peace of mind Nikola's telepathy had given her, until she was forced to manage without it.

Watson squeezed her hand. "I know, love." He understood completely. "But that's also why you need an outing like this. I'll not have you wearing yourself down into illness." Sally worried about Kathy in this less-medically-advanced age, but Watson worried about _Sally_. It was nothing less than a miracle that she and Kathy had come out of the stress of Frozen Time in good health, and Sally could still stress herself out of it.

She nodded meekly, finally beginning to smile. "Yes, Doctor." _He's right, you're being stupid, the others have got this – the real fun won't start till Kathy starts crawling..._

He kissed her cheek and grinned. "And to be honest, I've been looking forward to having you all to myself this evening. It _has_ been a bit of a rare thing with us."

Her smile widened at his kiss, humming in agreement. "So, where are you taking me tonight? Or is that a surprise?"

"Well..." His eyes danced, eager for her reaction. "Does the name 'Savoy Hotel' mean anything to you?"

Sally's face lit up. "John! _Really_?" The hotel's restaurant was famous even in her time, she'd always wanted to go!

He chuckled, pleased to see her so delighted. "Well, we don't have to if you don't want to..."

She laughed and swatted him on the shoulder. "Are you kidding me?! And it's so close to Christmas, how did you even...?"

He grinned. "For that, you'll have to thank Holmes; he called in a favour or two. Being friends with the Great Detective actually _does_ have some perks." And thank goodness for it!

"What, you mean _besides_ getting shot at and woken by violins at 2 am?" Sally chuckled, snuggling closer into her husband's side. "That was very sweet of him." _Thank you, Sherlock._

Watson chuckled and wrapped his arm around her. "He has his moments. More often since Beth." Holmes had always had a strong streak of kindness which could surprise people who knew only his reputation as a thinking machine, but Beth had _softened_ her husband considerably, and it was a joy to see.

"I've noticed." She probably had been a bit full-on with the whole parenting thing lately, so Sherlock going to all that trouble for her – well, her and John... that meant a lot. _Or maybe he just needed a break, too..._ "We did finally have that talk, the other day."

"Oh? How did it go?"

"Mm, bit awkward, but... yeah, better than I thought," Sally smiled. "It felt good to finally clear the air."

Watson held her a little closer and hummed gratefully. "I'm glad." So glad that Holmes and Sally had finally aired out their issues... such a relief...

Sally could hear the note of wistfulness in her husband's voice. Maybe it was time to talk with John a bit more about Beth... not tonight, though, she wasn't about to spoil their evening. She squeezed him back, tipping her head up to kiss him.

He smiled and returned the kiss, greatly enjoying not having to worry about anyone interrupting them. They wouldn't reach their destination for a good few minutes yet, and it was an intoxicating feeling, this time alone with his lovely wife. "Have I told you lately, Mrs. Watson," he murmured, "that you are truly a remarkable woman?"

She blushed at the light of desire in his eyes, resisting the sudden, wicked impulse to tell their cabbie to take the scenic route. "Constantly," she murmured back. "Tell me again..."

* * *

By the time they'd finished dinner, with no frantic messages received from home, Sally felt much more relaxed, and going to the Savoy Theatre afterwards to see the D'Oyly Carte Company perform 'The Pirates of Penzance' was yet another dream come true. She was still treading on air and humming the overture under her breath as they re-entered 221B. "We're home!" she called softly.

Beth appeared on the landing, her finger on her lips, eyes dancing. _Sally is gonna love this_. She beckoned them upstairs.

Sally peeked into the sitting room, and barely smothered a giggle. Sherlock was half-lying on the sofa, Kathy on his chest, both fast asleep. _Awww._ "Had fun, did they?"

Watson looked over Sally's shoulders, and his eyes went wide at the sight before him. _Well, I never_...

Beth grinned. "Oh my gosh, did they ever, and I've got the pictures on my phone to prove it."

 _Pictures, excellent_. "Did you get one of them like this?" asked Watson.

"Oh yeah."

Sally grinned, then sighed. It was a shame to disturb such a peaceful scene, but the pair couldn't be left like that all night – Beth would be wanting her husband back, for one thing. She tiptoed in and carefully scooped Kathy up, who stirred but mercifully didn't wake.

While Sally retrieved the baby, Watson turned to Beth. "Thanks again for looking after her."

Beth smiled. "My pleasure— _our_ pleasure." It had been fun.

Sally nodded emphatically as she carried Kathy out – an evening off had been just what she needed. She spared an arm to hug Beth, whispering, "Thank you!" She meant to thank Sherlock properly too, but that could wait till morning.

Beth beamed and hugged Sally back, noting that the older girl seemed much more relaxed now than she'd been when she left. "You're welcome. 'Night!"

Watson smiled at his sleeping daughter, so small and precious and perfect, but spared one last glance and a "Goodnight!" for Beth.

Sally caught her husband's hand and tugged him with her upstairs. "Oh, the night's not over yet, Doctor..."

Watson's eyes took on a gleam he wouldn't have let his daughter see had she been awake. "I was hoping you'd say that..."

* * *

Beth returned to the sofa and bent down, touching Sherlock's shoulder. "Honey?" she said softly.

"Mm?" Holmes stirred, then his eyes fluttered open in bleary alarm as he realised that the weight on his chest was gone. Kathy...

"Shh, shh." Beth put her hands on his shoulders to steady him. "The Watsons came back, Sally just took Kathy."

Holmes sagged in relief, then his eyes widened. "While I was...?" The detective groaned, reddening; he'd probably had his mouth hanging open, too.

"Aww, it's okay." Beth giggled. "The two of you were _so_ cute..."

He gave her a half-hearted glare, too tired for more. "I am going to bed," he said with what little remained of his dignity. Being domestic was still taking some getting used to, especially with an audience.

She grinned. "Me, too. Is that all we'll be doing?" she added innocently.

Holmes couldn't conceal a drowsy smile. He took her hand and kissed it, levering himself up off the sofa. "Ask me again in the morning..."

* * *

It had dawned on Watson that since the number of people at 221B had doubled, including an infant, it was rather unfair to leave all the chores to the womenfolk, especially since he was no longer a martyr to his old injuries. Once breakfast next morning was cleared away, he borrowed one of Mrs. Hudson's spare aprons and began carrying the filled coal scuttles from the back door upstairs, sitting room first.

Beth was curled up on the settee, reading (or attempting to read) _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ for the billionth time. She was waiting for a chance to make an apology to John, and her already-nervous state spiked when he entered the room. After a moment, she managed a "Hi."

Watson grinned in recognition of how odd he must look in shirtsleeves and apron, tugging his forelock in the manner of a deliveryman. "Mornin', marm!" He lugged the heavy scuttle the last few feet to the fireplace and set it down gratefully.

She giggled in spite of herself and sat a bit straighter. "Sally was telling me about the play—sounds like you guys had a lot of fun." For which she was very, very glad.

"We're both still humming it," Watson chuckled. "Rutland Barrington was marvellous as the police sergeant, stole the show!"

Beth grinned, his cheerful mood infectious. Zed, and now she didn't want to spoil it! _But I have to make this apology_...

He sat down in his armchair for a moment's rest, leaving the apron on. "If you ever get the chance to see him, go – he always sings just a tiny bit flat, but no one can tell whether he does it on purpose or not." Watson smiled at the memory. "I haven't seen Sally enjoy herself that much in a long time."

Beth smiled sympathetically. "Aww. I'm glad." She bit her lip, then decided she had to be brave and bite the bullet. "Ah... speaking of plays... I actually owe you a, um, way, waaay overdue apology." She blushed as she said it, wishing she'd done this long before now.

He blinked in surprise, taking a moment or two to realise what she meant. "Oh! Oh, Beth, there's no need, honestly."

She sighed. "Yes, there is. I was being thoughtless. I knew the story, and I didn't stop to think at all about how it could affect you and Sherlock." She didn't quite meet his eyes, remembering how pale and upset he'd looked in Wyndham Theatre before she'd run out after Sherlock. "And I'm really sorry."

Watson smiled kindly. "That's quite all right, Beth. You didn't mean any harm, please don't keep berating yourself over it." All things considered, he couldn't find it in him to regret having attended that play. If nothing else, meeting Edward and Jeremy had certainly been worth the additional drama.

She lowered her eyes and nodded, cheeks flaming. She had to apologise, but she didn't deserve that kind of kindness. "Thank you, Doctor," she said softly, and then instantly wished she hadn't. In conversation with Sally, with Sherlock, even in the privacy of her own mind, she had long since gotten used to calling Dr. Watson 'John', and it was beyond her why she couldn't make herself say it to his face.

He looked at her quizzically. 'Doctor'? Surely they were past such formalities by now... _Well, you might feel that way, but does Beth?_

She felt rather than saw the question in his expression, and looked up slightly. "What?"

"Beth, are we... are we friends?"

She froze, and averted her gaze again. "Um... I—" her cheeks reddened again—"didn't... didn't think we were..." _That's a horrible thing to say! ...it's also true! We've married each other's friends but that doesn't mean_ we _are!_

 _Oh, well done, now you've embarrassed her more!_ "Forgive me, I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that." Softly, "Beth, I... I never meant to make you feel that you weren't welcome. If there's anything I've done to give you that impression –" He blushed, looking down himself as the uncomfortable memory intruded: "Well, besides deserting you here that time..."

She flinched—those memories were still a lot more painful than she wanted them to be. "Well... yeah, there was definitely that, but... I mean... you don't have to... feel like you need to make me feel welcome." She didn't know why he was talking like this, but she wished he would stop.

Watson raised both eyebrows at 'have to' and smiled, shaking his head at himself; he'd really mucked things up here. "Beth, it may have been presumptuous of me, but I have valued you as a friend ever since you first helped us to bring the Doctor back. Thinking back, however... I can see how you might have missed that. Perhaps I was keeping my distance when you rejoined us because I'd hoped... well... you and Holmes..."

Beth looked up, frowning incredulously—she'd sometimes suspected, but it stung to hear it confirmed. "...me and Sherlock... _what?_ " she said sharply. "Spending time with me was the _last_ thing he wanted to do—the last thing _anybody_ wanted to do. I mean, I ended up getting dumped into the lap of a poor landlady who didn't even know me." _Oh yes, good, blow your top like a ten-year-old_. She looked back down, colouring again. "Sorry."

"No, Beth, don't apologise." Deep down, he'd known she wouldn't join him and Sally at the hotel, that invitation had been solely to appease his own conscience. "But if you think Holmes didn't care about you then... ask yourself why he tried to drink his own actor under the table."

Her frown deepened—what was John getting at? "He was still ticked off about the play—that didn't have anything to do with me."

"Oh, didn't it? A charming, debonair version of himself, and you on Jeremy's arm, all starry-eyed..." Watson had to grin at the memory, now that he finally understood what those venomous looks in the actor's direction had been about. "Now, admittedly, you're not the first fangirl Holmes has ever met – but I'm fairly certain he didn't drink himself into a stupor after the Peter Cushing marathon."

She sighed. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure the Peter Cushing version didn't end with Sherlock also being Moriarty. Besides, he didn't really fall in love with me until the world was ending, and even then only because I stuck with him—he said so himself." _Because you have seen me at my worst, Beth, and have never turned away..._ "If everything hadn't gone south, he wouldn't've ever looked twice at me. Look, nobody's ever actually _chosen_ to be with me—" she swallowed at the sudden lump in her throat, making her next words catch—"not even Chloe."

Watson's brow furrowed, floored for a moment by the sudden influx and not at all sure what to respond to first. "I thought... you and Chloe were friends."

"We were," Beth said softly. "We'd known each other our whole lives, right from daycare." They'd been described more than once as conjoined twins; Chloe's death had felt like half of Beth had been ripped out, leaving her gaping open and bleeding... "That's the point—in a room full of people, nobody... seeks me out." Her better judgement screamed at her to stop, but now that she'd started, all the darker thoughts and feelings she'd kept bottled up inside—not even telling Sally or Sherlock—were tumbling out of her mouth and she couldn't stop them. "Nobody becomes my friend without circumstances pushing them into it—if they did, _they wouldn't leave_."

She glared defiantly at John past blurring vision. "First my dad with his work—he might as well have been in the army, for all that I got to see him, growing up. And then my brother actually joined the military. And then _all_ my school friends... Chloe was the only one who didn't leave of her own free will... But then the Doctor came back for me, and I felt... _chosen_..." Her voice turned bitter. "Until I figured it out in the middle of Frozen Time: he didn't come back for me for my sake—he came back for _Sherlock's_." Very few things had hurt like that realisation: being nothing more than a pawn, something to be used for someone _else's_ benefit.

She looked down again, voice quieting. "So then he left me here, to look after Sherlock. And then you and Sally left, and then even Sherlock... _left_. And that's when it felt like one big joke... and I wished I'd never come... Dreaming about the TARDIS coming back for me some day would have been so much... nicer... than knowing that no one was ever going to care enough to come back." Her voice broke. "Not for me."

Watson listened in appalled silence, which was soon joined by cold shame as he realised that she was right. Even without his deserting her and forcing Sally to do the same... how often had he actually treated Beth as a friend in her own right, rather than as _Sally's_ friend, or in connection with Holmes? "Oh, Beth!" he whispered, then got up and came over to sit beside her, tentatively putting his arm around her; she definitely looked in need of a hug just now, even if he didn't know exactly how she might react.

She looked at him uncertainly, not having expected that. Then, mind strangely quiet, she rested her head on his shoulder, her body still tense with the effort of holding back tears.

"Beth, I... I wish I knew what to say... because I can see now that you have been let down, very badly. I'm so sorry."

A couple of tears got past her defences. "I didn't mean to go off on you," she whispered.

He shook his head gently. "It's all right, Beth. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I haven't been the friend to you that I should have been – that I wanted to be."

She looked at him mutely, wishing she could think of something to say... but she wasn't even sure what to think.

"But I mean to do better in future, if you'll let me." A sudden chuckle. "And if you'll promise to stop calling me 'Doctor', it makes me feel old!"

She blushed. "Sorry... John." Calling him by his first name felt so much stranger than calling Sherlock by his ever did. _Maybe it's the more significant age gap?_

"Watson's fine, too, if you'd rather," he smiled.

She blushed again. "I feel like that'd be a little too weird," she said shyly. Going by her own time's standards, downright disrespectful.

Watson nodded, he understood. "John it is, then." He hesitated, then decided to go ahead and say it, it probably couldn't make things any worse. "Beth, I hope I'm not out of line by saying this... but I do think you're mistaken about Holmes. Yes, he can be a stubborn idiot in matters of the heart, I'm sure he did everything he could to convince himself that he wasn't in love with you... but even Holmes can only lie to himself for so long." _"For my part, I am ashamed to admit... it was only when I feared she might leave me..."_

She frowned. Sherlock had once said something similar, but it was still very hard to process—almost as if it was easier to forgive him for the way he treated her because she thought he hadn't cared. The idea of him caring made it worse. "But..."

"He did _choose_ to be with you, Beth. I know he's had moments when he wondered if he was truly doing right by marrying you, but those doubts were for your sake, not his. If you could have seen him after you left Goldini's –" The memory of his friend in such distress still made Watson's chest hurt; "he was completely distraught at the thought of having to let you go."

She bit her lip, heart aching at the memory. "I know..."

"From the little he's told me, it's clear to _me_ that he'd already fallen in love with you long before you rescued him." And Holmes seemed to have admitted very little to Beth on that subject, either; Watson might need to have a talk with him next. "That journey you took together just helped him to admit it, that's all."

She gave a mirthless laugh and muttered, "I swear he has no idea of how to communicate..."

"Don't I know it! Still..." Watson smiled at the return of a much pleasanter memory; "he does have his moments. Do you know what he told Mycroft, when we went to Whitehall that day? That husband of yours said, and I quote, that he loved you dearly, and had done for months."

Her eyes went round; she knew very well how big a deal it must have been for Sherlock to say that. "Oh, wow..."

"Mm-hm." Watson chuckled. "Mycroft just about fell off his chair!"

She smiled weakly. "I'll bet." She straightened and wiped at her wet eyes to give herself _something_ to do, not knowing what else to say.

He looked at her in concern, then took out his handkerchief and offered it to her. "Are you all right?"

She took the handkerchief and wiped her face, nodding hastily. "I'm okay, I'm okay. I just... it's a little much." The words started to tumble out again, one on top of another, and she wished she could stop herself. "To handle, sometimes. I mean, I do know... Sherlock loves me... a lot... Hafta question his taste in spouses sometimes, 'cos I don't... I don't really understand _why_... I mean, I don't even... don't even like myself... not really..." Then she stopped at last, reddening—but it felt so, so _good_ to say that, something she'd felt she couldn't say to anyone ever.

Watson could only blink – what in heaven's name was he to say to that?! Beth had already demonstrated that she didn't handle compliments at all well, and this was an awkward enough moment already.

 _Abort, abort, NOW_. _What the zed are you_ doing _?! Rambling on and on, and poor John does not need to hear all this_. Beth scrambled to stand. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry." She handed back his handkerchief. "I should let you get back to what you were doing."

"Coal scuttles," Watson grinned ruefully – he still had the two upstairs bedrooms to go. He rose and started to exit the room, then paused, turning. "Beth, I... I hope you don't feel that... Well, taking me into your confidence, I'm sure that can't have been easy, and..." Smiling shyly, "Well, I just wanted to say, I'm glad we could talk."

She shifted on her feet, embarrassed and not knowing how quite to react, feeling as though her world had undergone a massive shift. _He... cares about me?_ "...I'm sorry I dumped all that on you. I didn't mean to."

Repressing a sigh, Watson answered lightly, "You have a dreadful habit of apologising for being human, did you know?" One more thing she and her husband had in common.

She winced... and nodded reluctantly _._

"Beth, it's my privilege to lend an ear when you need one – I'd like to think that's what a friend would do."

"I know—I just..." She chewed at her lip. "Doctor—John... I'm used to caring way, way more about people than they do about me, and not... not being a priority, for other people or myself." She sounded helpless to her own ears as she tried desperately to unravel her thoughts. "I just... I don't matter." Growing up the oldest of her mother's five children had sidelined her, made her second priority to her younger siblings in her parents' eyes. Whatever her younger brothers and sister needed or wanted had come before what _she_ needed or wanted. She had been raised to prioritize her responsibility to her siblings over herself, so of course that trait had carried over into her friendships. Chloe had never taken advantage of it. Others had.

"I-I shouldn't matter. I _didn't_ matter to people—not just you—before, and I haven't changed, and I don't understand! I am... petty and selfish and vindictive and whiny and needy and reckless and stupid and _boring_ and I have the _worst_ temper—why the _zed_ would you or anyone else actually _want_ me around?! Sally needed me and Will, and the boys... needed me and Sherlock..." She gestured helplessly with a despairing laugh—poor Sherlock, so thoroughly dependent upon someone as _fragile_ as she was. "Even Moriarty and Moran only wanted me to get back at Sherlock! What's _your_ excuse?"

Poor girl... Watson could have just about wept at the self-loathing in Beth's voice, but answered gently, smiling, "You know, you've just perfectly described Holmes on _his_ worst days? Yet the rest of us are all still here – why do you think that is?"

She stared at him, shaking her head slowly. "That's not... he... I..." She couldn't think of a single thing to say in retort that couldn't be easily shot down by John, and instead blurted out, "That's not fair!"

The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Not fair? Beth, I'm just trying to help you see that it's high time you gave yourself the same break that you unconsciously give to everyone you care about. Because I think I don't have to tell you, do I, that being a friend to someone has nothing to do with what they can do, and everything to do with who they are – because a true friend makes the good times a joy, and the harder times worth the effort." Holmes had certainly done so, however challenging he have might been to live with at times, and Watson dearly hoped he had done the same. "More than enough of an excuse, if you must use that word." He looked Beth steadily in the eye, going on in a softer voice, but just as firm, "Beth, you are my friend because of the person you are – and that is _reason_ enough, believe me."

Her vision blurred again. She opened her mouth, closed it, repeated the motions several times before putting her hand over her mouth and turning half away. She didn't know what to think, let alone what to say. She knew he was right. She was depressive with an appalling lack of self-confidence, but she wasn't stupid, not really. _But I've been this way so long that I don't know how to live any differently_...

Dear heavens, he just couldn't seem to stop setting her off, however hard he tried... A red-faced Watson was secretly relieved when the awkward silence was broken by Kathy starting to cry in the upstairs bedroom.

Beth was starting to take a step towards the bedroom and jumped a little at the sound, stopping and glancing at the other door. _I should go up, shouldn't I?_ Sally was downstairs doing chores, and John was trying to do chores himself...

"Oh, I should, ah..." Watson hated to leave the conversation there, but Beth could probably do with some time to herself right now, anyhow. "Please excuse me." He hurried out of the room and upstairs. Once Kathy was calm and dry again, he carried her downstairs in her basket – she'd be all right in the kitchen for a few minutes while he made the last deliveries.

Beth stirred to life as John passed the door. "Wait, John?" Pausing, she continued shyly, "Let me take her—Sally's probably still busy."

Watson hesitated. "You don't mind?" Kathy settled the matter with a chirp of approval, waving her wee fists.

Beth nodded, holding out her arms with a hopeful expression. "Please?" Just _holding_ Kathy was more comforting than probably anyone would understand.

"Thank you." He handed the basket over with a smile and headed downstairs, very relieved that Beth was starting to look more like herself again.

Beth lifted the baby out of the basket, settling back onto the sofa with Kathy. "Hey, little lady," she said softly, kissing the baby's head. "How was the nap, huh?"

Frowning, the little one gave a soft whimper and reached up to Beth's face.

Beth's eyes widened in understanding, guilt flooding her. Of course, their little Time Lady—every bit as sensitive as Nikola to the emotions of those around her, but with none of the skills and discipline to block them out. "Oh, honey, I am so sorry!" She touched her forehead to the baby's. "Sweetie, I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean for that to bother you."

Kathy cooed, her hand finding Beth's hair and clutching it.

The young woman smiled in spite of herself and rubbed her nose against Kathy's tiny one. "Oh, baby, what would we do without you?"

"Ba!" Kathy burbled, smiling back.

Beth's mouth fell open. "You didn't... you weren't just... just saying my name, were you? You should be too young for that!"

But the baby beamed, looking immensely proud of herself, leaving no doubt in Beth's mind.

She was too stunned even for happy tears, staring at Kathy, a more genuine smile slowly creeping up on her. "Oh my gosh!" she breathed, then laughed and kissed the baby's forehead. "You brilliant girl! Wait 'til we tell Mama and Daddy—they're gonna be so jealous! _After_ they hit the ceiling!"

Kathy crowed, eyes dancing.

Beth grinned back, her heart swelling with love for this remarkable little girl. She couldn't begin to imagine loving a child of her own body more. She stood, shifting her hold on the baby. "C'mon, let's go tell them!"

As she descended the stairs, she called, "Sally, John! Your little Time Lady is talking!"

There was a loud, clattering crash in the downstairs hall, sounding remarkably like a dropped coal scuttle.

* * *

 **Sky:** So, once again, we're working through stuff that we figured should be worked through, including giving the poor Watsons a break! (And, admit it, the mental image of Sherlock Holmes falling asleep on the couch with a baby is _precious_.) And the thing with Beth, I will admit, is my fault. I kind of built up issues with her to make her more of a rounded character than the original version, and then I had to deal with them. Don't worry—someday, Beth _will_ find her confidence. She's only 18, after all! And last but not least, Kathy saying Beth's name is down to Ria—it's actually an idea from an old draft that we managed to recycle, and it's so cute!

 **Ria:** I suspect I may have issues with my youngest only being a year off school. *sigh* At least fanfic babies don't have to grow up any faster than you want them to!


	2. O Christmas Tree

**==Chapter 2==**

 **O Christmas Tree**

 _"Nothing ever seems too bad, too hard or too sad when you've got a Christmas tree in the living room. All those presents under it, all that anticipation. Just a way of saying there's always light and hope in the world. And you're lucky enough to have a family to share it with."  
_ — J.D. Robb, Memory in Death

" _Get_ your Christmas trees here, ladies and gen'lemen," the hawker bellowed over the other merchants from his corner of the market square, "finest pines in all o' London!" With just two weeks left till Christmas, Sally and Beth had decided that they'd gone quite long enough without a certain seasonal touch in the sitting room.

Beth was bouncing with excitement, grinning, eyes shining. "Oh my gosh," she said softly, "oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" They were shopping for a live Christmas tree! Her own family hadn't done that since she was a little girl.

Sally had to giggle, Beth's enthusiasm infectious. The scene around them was just like something out of Dickens – and the smells! Oranges, hot chestnuts, coffee and freshly cut pine... She inhaled with relish as they approached the stall. "Mmm..."

Watson smiled and lightly squeezed Sally's arm. "How long has it been since you've done this? Picked out a live tree?"

"Not since Gran died – Aunt Helen always put up a fake tree after that, she hated vacuuming all those needles. It just wasn't the same, though." _1895... God, Gran's not even born yet... Good thing she grew up in Norfolk, I don't know if I could resist if it was London!_

Beth nodded sympathetically. "It's fun assembling an artificial tree, but I know whatcha mean." She'd always been jealous of the live trees that extended family and friends usually had, but her family's artificial tree had just been easier to take care of, and in a big family, minimizing hassle was a priority.

An artficial tree? Holmes wouldn't have minded a touch less greenery cluttering up the flat... _Pff, look who's talking!_ It was clear that nobody else in the party was enthusiastic about them, though. "Oh, Watson, I believe it's your turn to retrieve the ornaments from the attic this year."

Watson grimaced—and he didn't even have the excuse of his old wounds any longer!

Sally eyed the pair with a frown. "I take it this is a mission not to be undertaken by the faint of heart."

Holmes nodded. "The climb alone is no joke..." then grinned as a thought occurred. "Watson, I suggest a new stepladder for Mrs. Hudson this season."

Watson glanced heavenward. "Oh, for heaven's sake…" Would Holmes _ever_ learn what made an appropriate Christmas gift? _Well, perhaps Beth will steer him in the right direction now_...

"How treacherous _is_ this legendary climb?" Beth asked, seriously considering trying it herself.

"Well, if the ladder doesn't collapse on you while you're climbing, then you have to stand on tiptoes and negotiate with the hatch, which is usually swollen with the damp..."

Sally winced, squeezing her husband's arm. "A new ladder it is, then." They could always get Mrs. Hudson something else as well – she'd pick John's brain about that later.

"Okay," said Beth, eyes alight, "but I get to try the old one before we get rid of it."

Holmes shook his head in mild despair. "Incorrigible..." It looked as if Beth was more in need of excitement than he'd thought. And he was sure Lestrade had been deliberately avoiding Baker Street since the wedding – perhaps he ought to call round in the next few days, exchange compliments of the season...

Beth grinned, nodding happily.

Watson echoed Holmes's head shake—that girl was probably every bit Holmes's equal in her tendency towards trouble. Heaven knew how long 221B and Mrs. Hudson's patience would hold up under the strain! "Does anyone see a tree they like?"

"Ohh, can we get this one?" Sally pointed excitedly at the tree that had caught her eye – and no wonder, now she looked at it again, it was twice as tall as her! It _was_ lovely, though...

Beth stared at it; it was beautiful, but she wasn't sure it could even fit in the sitting room! "Wow..."

Watson gaped at the size of the tree, then looked to Holmes for help. He didn't want to be the one to say that it probably wouldn't fit!

Holmes blinked, then sighed inwardly at Watson's expression. "Sally... perhaps we should leave that one for someone with a wider staircase? Mrs. Hudson did ask us to have a mind for her wallpaper."

"...I suppose." _Come on, don't pout, there's lots of other nice trees. Just be grateful you're getting one!_

Dear heaven, that look... "Or... we _could_ shorten it a trifle with the axe before bringing it in."

"That's true," said Beth.

Watson nodded slowly, thinking it over. "It would be a bit of extra work, but it is doable." He certainly couldn't bear that crestfallen look Sally had just given them.

Sally nodded, smiling gratefully at the other three. "We'd better take the pictures off the walls before we start moving it upstairs, though."

Beth nodded, eyes wide at the thought. "Yes, definitely."

Watson squeezed Sally's arm again. "Let's see about buying it before someone else snaps it up."

"Ooh, that's a point: how are we getting it home?" The Green Giant suddenly looked a lot heavier than it had a minute ago.

"Taken care of." Holmes pointed across the marketplace. "Those men with the hand carts over there, we can pay one of them to help us transport it."

"Oh, thank God."

* * *

Outside 221B, Watson eyed their acquisition as it rested against the doorstep. "Shall we trim it outside? The less needles that fall on the floor, the better." It wasn't as if vacuum cleaners had been invented yet—yet another future comfort he was sure they'd all miss.

"I'll get the axe." Holmes let himself in and went out to the kitchen, locating the small chopper Mrs. Hudson used to split kindling for the range. The landlady poked her head over the bannisters just as he came back down the hall, and he hastily concealed the axe behind his back.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I thought I heard the door! The tub of earth is ready when you are."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," the detective smiled, "we'll be in directly."

The woman's eyes narrowed for a moment – had she noticed he was hiding something? But it was Christmas, after all, and secrets were a matter of course. "Did you find a nice tree at the market?"

"Er, yes..." Holmes turned to go back out, calling carelessly over his shoulder: "And don't worry, we'll put all the pictures back when we've finished."

Mrs. Hudson was about to reply, then her eyes went wide – but Holmes was already closing the door behind him.

"Ah, good," Watson said as Holmes emerged with the tool. "Now... how to do this..."

"Yeah, without messing it up," Beth winced.

Holmes looked the tree over critically. "Just a foot or so off the bottom should do it, I think."

"I'm just wondering," Sally ventured, "what if we wrapped up the lower branches?" That should make it at least a little easier to maneuver up the stairs! "Think Mrs. Hudson could spare a couple of towels?"

"I can go get them," Beth offered, glad to do something to help. She hurried inside, paused, and hastily wiped her boots, grimacing as she noticed that Sherlock had not wiped his. On the landing above, their landlady was taking pictures down. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson!"

Mrs. Hudson looked down, noting that Beth's face was flushed from the cold. "Oh, hello, dear." The foursome would have to be warmed up once they came in; no one had caught cold yet this season, and it would be a terrible thing if they started to now! "Could you get that one down for me?" She pointed to a picture that was slightly out of her reach.

"Oh, sure." Beth hurried up the stairs and took the picture down, handing it to the landlady, and then hurried back down, headed for... what was it called again? The linen closet? _No, 'closet's' American; it's 'cupboard' here_.

Having put the last pictures in a box, Mrs. Hudson carried them downstairs and halted at the sight of Beth raiding the linen cupboard. "What on earth...?"

"Ah, just making sure we get the tree up with no problems!"

Mrs. Hudson's face cleared. "One moment." She went to her sewing box in the kitchen and returned with a handful of safety pins. "The oldest towels, if you please—they're on the top shelf."

Beth saluted her with a smile. "Yes, ma'am." She pulled down the more threadbare towels and took the safety pins. "Thank you!" She rushed back outside, calling, "I got the towels!"

Shaking her head, Mrs. Hudson returned to the kitchen. "It was mad enough around here with two bachelors..." But she was smiling. She couldn't argue with the _light_ the three girls had brought into her house.

* * *

Outside, Sherlock and Sally were holding the tree steady while John trimmed away some of the lower branches to get to the trunk. "How's it coming?" Beth asked.

Sally sighed. "I'm regretting teaching these two 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' – Sherlock always wins!"

Holmes looked faintly smug. "I did offer to toss a coin."

"What to do with these two," Watson muttered as he continued to trim.

Beth giggled and shook her head—poor John!

"Do hurry up, Watson!" Holmes shifted from foot to foot; he'd have worn a thicker coat if he'd known he was going to be standing around in the snow like this.

Sally gave him a pointed look, flexing her fingers inside her gloves. "Well, if you'd like to take a turn with the axe?"

Watson brightened, thankful that he now had Sally in his corner when Holmes was difficult—and even Beth, if that smile she was trying to bite down was any indication. "Excellent idea!"

Well, she did have a point... Holmes changed places with Watson and started chopping through the trunk, then winced at an explosive "Good heavens!" behind him. Mrs. Hudson had poked her head out of the door, staring at the tree in disbelief.

Inwardly groaning, Watson forced a bright smile. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson!"

"Which of you two madcaps picked out that behemoth?"

Beth opened her mouth and closed it, unsure of what to say—she couldn't just throw Sally under the bus like that!

Sally gave the landlady a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson. It's been ages..."

Mrs. Hudson sighed, then relented – at least the tree would be _slightly_ smaller when they brought it in. "Well, I suppose Mr. Holmes can receive his next few clients in the hallway."

Watson almost laughed out loud. "Now, Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure we don't have to be _that_ drastic…"

"It'll fit, Mrs. Hudson, never fear!" Holmes laughed, delivering the last blows to the trunk. "We can shorten the back branches if need be." He trimmed a few more of the lower branches to give it room for planting. "There we are."

Well, the tree looked neater than Beth had feared it might—the menfolk had done a good job. "It's going to be _gorgeous_!"

Sally nodded, beaming. "Right, let's see if we can get this thing wrapped."

"Yeah, here." Beth handed Sally a towel and moved toward the tree with the other, still wondering how they were going to go about this...

Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat. "Ah, perhaps if you were to lay it down?"

Sally exchanged a look with Beth. "That could work, roll it up like a carpet."

"Right, yeah." Beth laid her towel on the ground, wincing slightly—she was definitely glad they were using old towels.

"Maybe..." Sally laid her towel down end to end with the other and pinned the two together. "Now, if you two give us a hand..."

Holmes and Watson pitched in and helped to roll the tree, managing to bend most of the lower branches up and capture them. "Thank God this one's fresh cut," Holmes grunted, leaning on it with all his weight. A drier tree's branches wouldn't have been nearly as flexible.

Sally shot him an apologetic look, she and Beth pinning the loose end of the towel wrapper as quickly as chilled fingers would allow. For someone who wasn't all that big on Christmas, Sherlock was being awfully sweet about the whole thing – though she suspected it was more for Beth's benefit than hers.

"Are we good?" Watson grunted.

Beth quickly checked their work. "I think so, yeah."

The men slowly eased their weight off, letting the towels and pins take the strain—and they held beautifully. Sally and Beth high-fived, grinning.

Mrs. Hudson smiled approvingly as the four raised the tree back up and brushed the snow off. "I don't suppose anyone would be interested in some hot cocoa once they're finished?"

Beth had to keep herself from bouncing. "Yes, please!"

"That would be _lovely,_ " Watson said gratefully. Thank goodness his old war wounds were no longer around to pain him during times like these; nevertheless, it was _cold_ out here!

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," Sally said. "How's Kathy doing?" Leaving her daughter at home had only been slightly less of a wrench than last time, but she was determined to learn.

"Just waking up, she's had a lovely long nap."

Sally nodded, sighing inwardly – duty called. "She probably needs feeding, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'll join you," Watson said softly.

Beth gave Sally a sympathetic look, then turned back to the tree. Now came the _really_ hard part. "Well, I guess it's time to get this thing inside."

With Holmes and Watson going first, hauling the heavier bottom end, the four managed to get the tree in the front door and as far as the halfway landing without too much trouble. Negotiating the turn was rather more difficult, especially since one of the lower branches had escaped its wrapping, which kept snagging on the bannisters and threatening to push Holmes off balance.

Beth grimaced. "Careful!" she called, unable to do anything else with her hands full.

"Come on, Green Giant, nearly there," Sally said to the tree without thinking, then blushed as John chuckled.

At last, the tree was on the landing. "We did it!" Beth cheered.

Holmes straightened with a groan, rubbing his lower back. "I'm rapidly growing in favour of artificial trees."

Watson began to stretch as he straightened, more slowly and carefully than Holmes had, and nodded in agreement, groaning softly. He hadn't gotten such a workout since Frozen Time!

Beth laughed sympathetically and moved forward to put her arms around Sherlock, gently rubbing his back for him. "No, you aren't—real trees are so much better."

Holmes smiled at her touch, humming softly. That did feel very nice...

Sally gave John a hug, kissing his cheek. "Well, we'll definitely have to get a small one next year – Kathy'll be crawling by then."

Watson returned the hug, smiling. "True."

"I was going to suggest," Beth grinned, "we hoist it upstairs next Christmas with pulleys."

Her husband laughed, then looked at the Green Giant reluctantly. "Well, we can't leave that on the landing."

Beth eyed the tree. "Right... Sally, come on, let's lug it in."

Watson's eyes went wide. "What?!" He knew that Beth and Sally were no weaklings, but even so, the tree was huge and heavy!

"Yeah, we can do it," Beth insisted. "Come on, Sal, let's give them a break."

Although a bit wide-eyed, Sally nodded, grinning. "Sure, why not?" All that time carrying Kathy around had to be good for something. Between them, they managed to lift the tree's base and drag it into the sitting room, the towels helping it slide along the carpet without losing many needles. Mrs. Hudson's largest washtub stood waiting in front of the bow window, full of earth and stones with a hole dug in the middle.

Beth giggled breathlessly; her muscles hadn't had a workout like this in a while. "Zed, this is sooo heavy!"

Their husbands came forward to help raise the tree, eventually managing to coax the base into the hole and lever the trunk fully upright. "Right," said Watson, "pack that in, you two. Let's hope we put in enough rocks..."

The girls shored up the trunk, and the men gingerly let go of the tree... which remained mostly upright, though leaning a tiny bit to the left. The girls cheered, Beth bouncing and clapping her hands.

Watson laughed in relief. "It's perfect."

Holmes stepped back, inspecting their handiwork critically. "Mm, it's still a bit lopsided."

"Sherlock..." Sally groaned. "Seriously, let's quit while we're ahead!" She wasn't about to jinx their good luck by messing with something that didn't need fixing.

Mrs. Hudson came in with a jug while they were unpinning the towels. "Oh my, doesn't that look lovely!"

"Doesn't it?!" Beth all but squealed, too excited to feel embarrassed about it.

"And we haven't even decorated it yet!" Sally laughed.

Sherlock put his arm around Beth's shoulders, looking up at the tree with unexpected satisfaction. "Not a bad afternoon's work."

Beth smiled up at him, basking in the simple happiness of the moment.

Mrs. Hudson also smiled. "Well done, all of you. Now, while I'm giving it a drink, there are more well-deserved drinks down in the kitchen."

"And I'd better give Kathy one, too," Sally sighed, returning to earth. "Coming, John?"

Watson nodded, following her out. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

While Sally was busy with Kathy, Sherlock and Beth decided to retrieve the decorations from the attic to give mother and child some privacy. "So where are the decorations going to be?" Beth asked as she hurried up the stairs to the third floor.

Holmes followed a little more slowly, carrying the infamous stepladder. "I think I put them somewhere to the right last time. It's quite a large basket, though – safer to climb in and lower it. "

She nodded. "That's what I figured."

Holmes set up the ladder under the hatch, frowning at it warningly, daring it to misbehave. He should have thought to hide the wretched thing while fetching the axe.

Beth eyed the ladder suspiciously, but grabbed hold anyway. "Welp, here goes nothing." She set one foot on the first rung, testing it, then raised her other foot to it: so far, so good. She raised her right foot, and winced as she felt a slight give in the second rung.

Holmes's frown deepened at the ominous creaking. "Careful."

"Yeah, being careful. Thanks." She raised her left foot to the third rung, pulled herself up, and reached for the attic hatch, unlatching it. Almost losing her balance, she quickly grabbed the ladder again with both hands and hoisted herself up to the fourth rung... which promptly gave way beneath her.

"Beth!"

Before she could fall, she grabbed at the hatch and ended up dangling from it and holding on with both hands. "Zed!" she cried breathlessly, her heart practically beating in her throat. "Sherlock, boost, please!"

He swept the ladder aside and took her ankles, guiding her feet. "Stand on my shoulders."

She settled gingerly. "Thanks." She pulled herself up and over the hatch and stood slowly, looking around her. The crowded attic was probably a history buff's fondest dream. "Whoa, it is _cool_ up here, and I don't just mean temperature!"

"Mrs. Hudson rarely throws anything out," Holmes answered, dry tone concealing his relief.

"With good reason, I might add!" came Mrs. Hudson's tart reply from below. The landlady came up the last flight, eyes wide as she took in the broken ladder and Holmes standing alone under the hatch. "Oh my goodness... Elizabeth, is that you up there?"

Beth knelt to look over the hatch, grinning. "Ahoy below!"

Whatever relief Mrs. Hudson felt was well hidden beneath a deep frown. "Mr. Holmes, you might have told me the ladder needed repair!"

"If you'll recall, Mrs. Hudson," Holmes replied, a touch acidly, his own pulse still not entirely steady, "I informed you of the fact around this time _last_ year." In rather colourful language, if memory served.

Beth sighed and moved off to find the right container. There were a couple of hampers nearby, and she had the right one in half a minute. "Ah-ha!" She pulled it over to the hatch and leaned back over the edge. "Found it!"

"Look inside," Holmes called up, "you'll find the rope we used last time."

"Okay. Yeah, got it." Beth tied up the hamper, called "Coming down!" and lowered it.

"Do you need a hand down?" Holmes asked, he and Mrs. Hudson taking an end each and setting the basket out of the way.

"Um…" She judged the distance and decided that it could hurt if she tried to jump down... _and_ she could break the floor. "Yeaaaah, that would be nice. Is there, like, anything else I can stand on to close the hatch?"

He beckoned invitingly, smiling. "I'm sure I can manage."

Her eyes widened— _I'm not sure about this_. "Okay. Coming down, then." She maneuvered herself over and down.

Holmes braced himself and guided her feet back to his shoulders, holding her legs, trying to ignore Mrs. Hudson audibly holding her breath behind him. "All right?"

"I… think?" It was actually downright terrifying, perching so precariously on his shoulders, but she wasn't about to tell him that. She reached carefully for the hatch and tried to pull it up—but going wide over empty air, she lost her balance, dropping the door and flailing in panic. "Sherlock!"

He let go of her right leg at once, reaching up to take her hand. "Steady now..." Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea! Shaking, she took his hand in a death grip, regaining her balance as she almost knelt on his shoulders.

Mrs. Hudson hurried in front of Holmes, reaching up herself to help steady Beth. "Oh, my dear, do come down! Never mind about the trapdoor, we'll deal with that later."

"Quite right," Holmes said, a little too cheerfully, and slowly dropped to one knee.

Her face reddening, Beth carefully dismounted from Sherlock's shoulders, feeling like a kid again, caught in doing something stupid. "Sorry," she mumbled.

He stood up and hugged her, then both were startled next moment by their landlady giving Holmes a sharp clip around the back of the head. "What...?"

"And I thought that you and the doctor had plumbed the depths of tomfoolery between you!" Mrs. Hudson turned to Beth, severe expression softening. "Are you all right, dear?"

"I'm fine," Beth said slowly, feeling massively uncomfortable. "Mrs. Hudson, it was my idea, and believe me, I would have gone up with or without Sherlock's help." She had been pulling dumb stunts _long_ before she'd ever met Sherlock...

Mrs. Hudson sighed deeply, then gave Holmes, much to his surprise, a distinctly sheepish look. "My apologies, Mr. Holmes. I expect you did tell me about the ladder, although I confess I simply cannot recall..." Her voice trailed off, shaking her head at herself.

Beth glanced between Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock, and forced herself to brighten to lighten the mood. "Okay, I don't know about you two, but I desperately need some hot chocolate right about now." She set off down the stairs, calling, "Come on, Sherlock, last one down's a rotten egg!"

"Coming!" Holmes smiled at Mrs. Hudson on his way past to show her there were no hard feelings – after all, he'd done plenty of idiotic things in the past that he hadn't received any kind of retribution for!

* * *

It was just a little too warm in the kitchen right now, and since Sherlock and Beth were busy, Sally decided she could risk leaving off the shawl while feeding Kathy. She smiled down at her daughter, snuggled up in her arms in Mrs. Hudson's rocking chair and clearly making up for lost time. _Ow._ Her smile became pained. _Gently, honey._ The pressure eased slightly. Sally put any wistful thoughts about infant formula firmly out of her mind, picturing the Christmas tree in the sitting room for Kathy instead, their adventure in getting the Green Giant upstairs. _And just you wait till we decorate it, it's going to be_ so _beautiful..._

Watson watched in fascination: he'd seen mothers breastfeeding as part of his profession, of course, but this... This was always a special moment to him; mother and baby looked so contented together. To call the moment "heartwarming" would have been an understatement.

"Hm?" Sally looked up questioningly, starting to feel self-conscious under her husband's unwavering gaze.

He smiled tenderly back and murmured, "You look just like a mother cat nursing her kitten."

She had to laugh. "Now _that's_ one I've never heard before."

He was aware of how silly it sounded, but it was the impression he'd had nonetheless. "I should hope not," he teased.

Sally scrunched up her face and gave him an irritated 'meow', then grinned, shaking her head. "Twit." _Oh, you love it, admit it..._

Watson chuckled, though his expression sobered slightly as he looked back down at Kathy. How many lives did _she_ have? The Doctor never specified how many he had. And between healing himself and Holmes, and healing herself a hundred years in her timeline, how many lives would she have left?

"John?" She knew _that_ look... and recent experience had taught her not to let her husband sit for too long in thought – at least, not without a notebook.

"Mm, just thinking..." He hesitated to talk about Kathy's future in front of her, even as a baby—the little one was much too smart, and there was no telling what she might pick up. Casting his mind about for something else, his smile widened again. "Remembering the first time I saw you two together." In the doorway of Rosewood Hall, and not knowing just yet—though he might have hazarded a guess by the shape of the bundle and the way Sally was carrying it!—that he was a father again.

Sally smiled back, though she knew perfectly well he wasn't giving her a straight answer, then sobered as she remembered, too: not knowing whether to laugh or cry as her husband climbed out of the carriage, so thin and worn, almost a shadow of himself... "I wish you could have known about Kathy sooner..." It had taken so long to get John back, she'd even worried over whether he would believe the baby was his!

He reached out to touch her cheek, fighting a sudden lump in his throat. "To be honest, love," he murmured, "...I can't help feeling thankful that I didn't know." Though he understood how Sally felt, worrying about everyone else had been torture enough. Knowing he was to be a father, however, and unable to protect his pregnant wife and unborn child... that would have been horribly bittersweet in a way that would have quickly turned to agony.

"No, no, I understand." Softly, "It was just... hard. Finding out after we'd already been separated and then..." Sally stopped, turning pink as she realised how she sounded – as if poor John wasn't feeling guilty enough already!

He nodded solemnly, looking down at her with the deepest respect and sympathy—he could well imagine how scared she must have been. "And after waiting all that time for me in the future..." Poor Sally. He brushed his fingers up and down her cheek, silently promising her that he wouldn't ever let that happen again. From now on, he _would_ be there for his family whenever they needed him.

She had to close her eyes at the look on his face, leaning into his touch. _Hey, come on, don't lose it now, Kathy's still feeding._ "Waiting seems to be a thing in this family..."

He hummed ruefully in agreement, but he couldn't help smiling. _Our family together like this is worth the wait_. A minute later, the rest of the family came into the kitchen, Beth bounding ahead of Sherlock and teasing him about being a rotten egg while Mrs. Hudson began to pass out the hot chocolate.

Yes, this was a family worth waiting for.

* * *

 **Ria:** I'm with the girls, real Christmas trees _are_ so much better. But with two dogs plus a four year old at my place... yeah, maybe next year.

Speaking of Christmas trees... we're both super excited about next chapter: our first Victorian _non-_ canon case! *bounces* Stay tuned!


	3. It Must Have Been The Mistletoe

**== Chapter 3==**

 **It Must Have Been The Mistletoe**

" _Interfere? Of course we should interfere. Always do what you're best at, that's what I say."_

– The Doctor, Nightmare of Eden

 _Saturday 14_ _th_ _December_

The day was cold, and the grey sky hinted further snow, but inside 221B, Beth was perfectly warm and happy, sitting cross-legged and singing the first couple lines of 'White Christmas:

" _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,_

 _just like the ones I used to know..._ "

Smiling, Sherlock reproduced the melody on his violin with ease. Another time, Beth might have been faintly, resignedly disgusted at how her husband was one of those people who was very good at anything they tried to do, but for now, she smiled back. "Do you always pick up songs this easily?"

Holmes inclined his head modestly. "Eidetic memory – just don't ask me where we got it from!"

She giggled and shook her head. "Not parents, not grandparents...?" None of the three French artists he was related to?

"Not that I know of. Then again, Mycroft may have some idea." He'd often wondered if it even _was_ genetic in his case, or merely a result of not wishing to be outdone by his older brother... Holmes shrugged and raised the bow again, waiting for the next installment.

Beth settled and folded her hands in her lap, continuing:

" _Where the treetops glisten_

 _And children listen_

 _To hear sleighbells in the snow._ "

"Oh, that reminds me..."

Beth perked up at his tone—Sherlock speaking casually was _always_ a front for something. "Yes?"

"There'll be sleigh rides in Hyde Park again, now that the snow's deep enough. Perhaps you'd care to make an afternoon of it?" Although as far as he was concerned, _any_ excuse for quitting the flat would do.

Her eyes widened. "Sleigh rides, really?" She'd never ridden in a sleigh before!

He nodded, carefully laying his Stradivarius back in its case. "Watson greatly enjoys it, I'm sure he's planning to take Sally at some point."

"I'd love to go!"

"Splendid." Peering out of the window to gauge the weather, Holmes's eye was caught by movement on the mostly deserted pavement: a well-dressed gentleman was striding rapidly up the street, gaze darting anxiously from door to door. "Oh, hullo!" Could it be...?

Beth tilted her head. "What is it?"

He beckoned her over, eyes gleaming. "That gentleman approaching. If I am not greatly mistaken... ah!" The man's expression had cleared slightly at the sight of 221B, but now looked increasingly uncertain, steps slowing. "I think our outing may need postponing."

She joined Sherlock, taking a second to spot the man but found him and watched. "Client?"

"Indeed..." he murmured in satisfaction, "and I strongly suspect he has brought us a _most_ interesting case!"

She frowned and tilted her head further, trying to see what her husband did. "Because he's... uncertain?"

Holmes couldn't resist a mysterious smile, answering cryptically, "That as well."

At the front door, the gentleman took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and rang the bell.

Beth groaned. "No, don't do that to me!" Bad enough that she was probably always going to be a little jealous of Sherlock's powers of observation and deduction—he didn't have to tease her about it, too!

Holmes chuckled as Mrs. Hudson's footsteps sounded in the downstairs hall. "That, love, is Lord Robert Granville. He has a sizeable estate in the nearby country, although he and his wife are best known for their charity works." The door opened and their client stepped inside. "It must be a matter of great interest which brings his lordship here rather than the local constabulary – Inspector Samuels is reasonably competent." Holmes put his violin case away, crossed to the fireplace and stood before it, one arm resting on the mantelpiece.

She shook her head and grinned at his ready-to-receive-clients pose. _If only he knew how much he looks like Jeremy Brett doing that_. "Oh..." Reality had hit her: someone from the outside world had entered their home and she was still a fish very much out of water. "Should I, um, go...?"

He tsked teasingly. "You have a worryingly short memory today, my dear." Hadn't he just said his lordship had 'brought _us_ an interesting case'? "Please stay."

She pulled a face at his teasing but still felt nervous. This would be the first time she'd ever helped Sherlock receive a client, and it _would_ have to be a nobleman at that. She half rose from the settee. "Maybe I _should_ go, though..." If she stayed, she would only embarrass herself and Sherlock—she knew it!

"Beth..." Frowning in concern, Holmes abandoned his post and took her hand, ignoring the footsteps coming up the stairs. "The choice is yours, love," he said gently. "Just remember, our client is most likely feeling far more anxious." And it hadn't escaped his notice that Beth's presence could be very cheering, much like Watson's. _Well, for God's sake, don't tell her_ that _– the last thing she needs is to feel like she's standing in!_

Beth took a deep breath— _c'mon, you can do this—_ and nodded. "Okay," she said softly.

Mrs. Hudson knocked and opened the door. "Mr. Holmes, there's a gentleman asking to see you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, show him in." Holmes was mildly amused to see a faint gleam of relief in the landlady's eye – had he been that difficult to live with in the last few days?

Mrs. Hudson withdrew, allowing their client to enter. "Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes inclined his head. "Your servant, Lord Granville."

Lord Granville blinked, then laughed. "I'm flattered you recognise me, sir." Recollecting himself, he bowed to Beth with an inquiring smile. "And good morning to you, madam. Have I the honour of addressing the new Mrs. Holmes?"

Beth's eyes widened, suddenly drawing a blank on whether she should curtsey or not or do... _something_... what the zed was she supposed to do?! _Damn it, we haven't gone over enough etiquette yet—I don't know what to do!_ "Yes, ah, thank you..." _Oh, good job, way to sound like a complete idiot_. Cheeks flushing in shame, she turned to her husband for help.

Holmes gave her a reassuring smile, hating the look of horror in her wide eyes, and squeezed her hand lightly. Yes, a curtsey was fine.

Feeling like even more of an idiot, cheeks still flaming, she turned back to Lord Granville and curtseyed, then murmured, "Please excuse me." She retreated to the bedroom, too embarrassed and flustered to manage regaining her composure while remaining in the sitting room. She had made too much of a fool of herself for _that_.

Poor Lord Granville looked deeply embarrassed himself. He obviously hadn't dreamt that a young lady might be so discomfited by what was as natural as breathing to him!

Holmes was silently chiding himself for not having prepared Beth for this, but he managed to continue smoothly, "You are too kind, Lord Granville. Do be seated." He gestured invitingly at the basket chair, then went to the sideboard to pour a glass of brandy for the other man. "Draw up to the fire, you look quite chilled."

"Thank you." Granville sank into the offered chair, removing his gloves and stretching out his hands to the flames. "My deepest apologies for disturbing you both during this festive season, Mr. Holmes –" the expression of uncertainty had returned; "but, to own the truth, my wife and I are at our wits' end!"

Holmes handed the glass to Granville and seated himself in his own chair. "On the contrary, my dear sir," he said kindly but sincerely, "your arrival is most opportune." He _had_ been starting to feel rather restless himself after three weeks without a new case, and it was Beth's presence primarily that had prevented him from climbing the walls in sheer boredom. _And_ he was fairly sure Lestrade was still deliberately avoiding Baker Street, a courtesy Holmes would rather have foregone! "Pray continue."

Granville nodded gratefully and took a fortifying sip of his brandy. "One of the servants suggested that you might be of more assistance to us than the police. It seems you have acquired quite the reputation for explaining the... well, the inexplicable!" He took a square pillbox from his coat pocket, removing the lid to reveal what seemed at first to be a sprig of mistletoe, complete with berries... but the berries were twice as large as they should have been, about the size of a cherry. Moreover, all of them were split in half to their stems, with no seeds inside, just an empty hollow.

Holmes raised an eyebrow. What were these berries, and what could they do to warrant a detective's help? "Curious..." He held out his hand for the box. "May I?" Granville obliged, looking only too glad to be rid of it. "How have you come by this odd specimen?"

"Well, that's just the first part of the mystery, Mr. Holmes. The gardeners were cutting greenery yesterday to decorate the dining room – we were planning to host our annual Christmas party tonight."

The detective nodded. "I have heard of it."

"The head gardener, Evans, went up the Great Oak and discovered a large clump of what appeared to be mistletoe inside a hollow in one of the lower branches. He did think the berries were a little large, perhaps, but at the time..." Granville shrugged helplessly. "It was brought in along with the other foliage, and hung up over the mantelpiece, as is our tradition at this time of year."

"I see." Holmes lifted the box to examine the cutting. "I take it that this is, indeed, not actually mistletoe. What happened?"

"Well, nothing unusual seemed to occur that day. The room was decorated, which included a large Christmas tree, and the household retired for the night as usual. When the maid went in to lay the fire this morning, however, she happened to look up, and noticed that all the berries were as you see them now. That didn't seem terribly sinister – we assumed that they were simply spoiled and this odd effect was due to the heat from the chimney." Curiously, the client's gaze shifted for a moment to the Christmas tree in the bow window, his haunted expression deepening before returning abruptly to the present. "Forgive me, sir, but I fear this next part of the story will sound a great deal more fantastic."

Holmes's eyes had narrowed in thought, but his tone was reassuring. "My dear sir, please do not hesitate. I assure you that I have dealt with some thoroughly incredible cases in the past." _If only he knew_.

Granville nodded, taking another swallow of brandy. "We had just finished breakfast, when our two young children, Lavinia and Matthew, began jumping up and down, exclaiming delightedly that they could see..." Face reddening, he forged on: "Well, _fairies_ in the Christmas tree! We didn't pay them any heed at first, assuming they were merely talking about the decorations... until my wife noticed that the tree's topmost branches had started to turn brown at the tips. It now appeared that for some reason the various plants in the room would need greater care if they were to remain fresh until this evening – although the holly and ivy along the mantel appeared as green as when they were first cut. I accordingly asked the maid to give the tree a little more water..." Remorsefully, "How I wish I had heeded the children, or at least carried out the task myself! Poor Martha... Despite the children's clamouring, she had just begun to make her way beneath the lower branches with the carafe, when she gave the most heart-stopping shriek I'd ever heard, then shot back out again, white as a sheet and trembling all over!"

 _So this really is to be a case "out of this world!"_ Holmes had to rein in his excitement. "She had seen these 'fairies', I presume?"

Lord Granville looked overwhelmingly relieved at the lack of mockery in the detective's voice. "Indeed she had, Mr. Holmes! As did I when I went to investigate..." The aristocrat's tone became hushed, almost reverent, embarrassment forgotten as he warmed to his description: "Picture if you will, sir, a tiny creature, no more than an inch high, with limbs like twigs and a narrow, pointed face..." Granville cleared his throat awkwardly as he realised how he sounded. "Except that it wasn't only one – there seemed to be dozens of them, swarming all over the tree! Goodness knows how they got there, but it was abundantly clear that they had no intention of leaving their new home. Our few attempts to even approach them were met with extreme hostility." He held out his left hand, displaying to Holmes several tiny red marks like thorn pricks on the pads of his fingers and palm. "Not poisonous, mercifully. Still, an effective deterrent _en masse_ , I assure you!"

Holmes's eyes lit up—an alien or plant-like species, then! "Fascinating," he said, keeping his voice measured but allowing a fraction of the excitement he felt. "Presumably, these creatures came from this mistletoe lookalike. But I am curious, Lord Granville: how did you wish me to assist you in this extraordinary affair?"

Granville now appeared rather at a loss. "Well... ideally, by helping us determine what these creatures are and how to deal with them appropriately before our guests arrive this evening. We can't simply remove the tree without risking life and limb, and more extreme measures are equally unthinkable, especially with the tree still in the house. Besides –" He spread his hands; "the children would be inconsolable if ' _their_ fairies', as they call them, were harmed in any way! If it is not too great an imposition, Mr. Holmes, I would be most grateful if you could spare the time to come back to Granville Manor with me."

Holmes lightly drummed his fingers on the box. "It's no imposition, my dear sir; however, it must be understood that I cannot guarantee you a solution."

His client nodded meekly, though looking noticeably more cheerful. "Of course." Granville rose and put the glass back on the sideboard, adding tactfully, "I'll await you downstairs."

Holmes nodded his thanks. "We shall join you in a moment." As Granville left the room, Holmes opened the bedroom door, to find Beth backing away hastily from it.

"I'm sorry," she said meekly, not quite meeting his eyes. _Of all times to mess things up and get flustered over it!_

He put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. "There's no need, love. The fault was mine, I should have made sure you were prepared for something like this." Just a basic lesson or two on meeting and greeting, would that have been so difficult?

She blushed as she nestled into his hold. "I could have acted less like... like a socially awkward cat," she murmured, then shook herself. "So you're going out to his estate?"

"Well, I'd hoped you would accompany me, but yes." Holmes gave her a hopeful smile.

She bit her lip. "Are you sure?" _What if I mess up again?_ "Seriously sure?"

He lifted her chin and kissed her. "Of course I want you with me, dearest." In any case, it would be downright cruel to leave Beth here alone to brood over what had happened.

At the kiss, she gave him a little smile—he was so sweet. "All right, all right," she sighed.

"Anyway, you think _you're_ socially awkward?" Holmes grinned as they headed downstairs. "You haven't seen me at any of Scotland Yard's New Year's Eve parties!"

Beth nearly choked on her surprise. "What?! What were you doing there?" As much as Sherlock and the official force annoyed each other, she would have thought that ringing in the new year together would be the last thing either would want to do!

"If memory serves," her husband sighed, "mostly sitting in the corner, wondering why I kept letting Watson and Lestrade talk me into attending."

She laughed sympathetically. "Why does Geoffrey make you go? Seriously, isn't that... I don't know, against some kind of class thing, or something?" Not that there _should_ have been any such thing against an upper-class detective mingling at a party with working-class policemen, but this was Victorian Britain, and the class structures here were very alive and very rigid. Even if Sherlock didn't care so much for those structures, she wouldn't have thought that the Yarders would feel comfortable in bending them, not from the little she'd read of her great-grandfather's journals.

Holmes's brow creased, then answered slowly, choosing his words with care, and not a little embarassment. "Beth, it's not that I consider myself above their company... I simply have little in common with most of my colleagues outside of work." _Well, not so little nowadays! Aren't quite a few of the Yarders married themselves, including Lestrade?_ "I've found it easier and, honestly, a lot less awkward to keep my association with them purely professional."

She shook her head. "No, I know, I get that; it's just... Oh, never mind, there's no way I can word it that doesn't sound stupid." She sighed and switched tracks. "...why _does_ Geoffrey make you go?" _I hadn't thought they were that close, at least not at this point in time... Maybe I need to take another look at those old journals when I get back ho—when I get back to Mama and Daddy's house_.

"Possibly because it's the one night of the year he feels less out of his depth than I!" Holmes answered wryly, buttoning his coat, then shook his head. "No, he does mean well, and Watson always enjoys the gatherings, but he doesn't like to go without me." He shrugged. "What can one do?" _And of course you're not the_ least _bit flattered yourself at being invited, oh no..._

Smiling, she donned her own coat as she listened. "I suppose," she said casually, pinning on her hat, "wives aren't allowed?"

Holmes blinked. Now, why hadn't he thought of that? "Well, it's... certainly not forbidden – though I've yet to see any women attend. There's no reason you and Sally couldn't go, if you wished." Given what Lestrade must have reported to his colleagues, the other Yarders would doubtless be agog to meet the girls for themselves.

She nodded carefully as she finished with her pins. "That could be fun."

"Then I'll tell Lestrade to expect two more guests," Holmes smiled, offering her his arm. Yes, indeed... that _could_ be fun.

They joined their client on the street, who had managed to flag down a four-wheeler and was waiting inside. Granville brightened visibly at the sight of the pair, opening the door for Beth and touching his hat with a smile of contrition. "Glad you could join us, madam."

Beth's cheeks coloured slightly, but she nodded courteously back with her own apologetic smile. "My pleasure, sir." Sherlock took her hand and helped her up, then climbed in after her. And with a rap of Lord Granville's cane on the roof, they were off to the train station.


	4. Do You Hear What I Hear?

**==Chapter 4==**

 **Do You Hear What I Hear?**

 _"Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all thirty feet tall."  
— _Larry Wilde

A special train awaited the trio at the station, which Lord Granville explained was mostly kept for estate business or emergencies – and there was no denying that this case constituted both! The journey to Hertfordshire took the better part of an hour, during which time Granville exerted himself as host, plying his guests with refreshments and engaging them in light conversation. Holmes noted with approval that Granville was taking special pains to draw Beth out of her shell and put her at ease, his wife appearing much more relaxed in the peer's presence by the time they arrived at Hawkswood Station. The snow was much deeper out here, and Beth was delighted to learn that the only way to get to the manor from the station at present was by sleigh.

The scenery could have been pulled straight out of a classic Christmas card, white and beautiful and quiet. Beth wanted very badly to break out into all the Christmas songs she'd ever known—although 'Sleigh Ride', 'Jingle Bells', and 'White Christmas' _may_ have been at the top of that list for appropriateness.

At last, they came to the estate, fully as large and better-maintained than she had ever seen Rosewood—that was a matter of course, but it was also her only point of reference. Inside, the lovely old manor house was bright and warm, brimming over with greenery. "Lord Granville," Beth breathed, "your home is _beautiful_. And wonderfully festive."

Granville inclined his head modestly with a gratified smile.

The butler of the house cleared his throat discreetly and bowed. "Welcome home, milord." Two liveried footmen had been standing nervously outside a pair of closed doors, which Holmes supposed must lead into the dining hall, neither quite able to conceal their relief at being permitted to leave their posts to take coats and hats.

Granville nodded to the butler, casting a speaking glance towards the double doors. "Thank you, Simmonds. Where is Lady Granville?"

"Her ladyship took the children up to the nursery."

As if to confirm the butler's words, running footsteps and shrill voices sounded from the floor above. "Papa! Papa!" A fair-haired boy of about six and a slightly taller girl – Matthew and Lavinia, Holmes recalled – came dashing down the grand staircase, well ahead of a lady in a simple but elegant morning dress, and flung themselves at their father. "Please, Papa," Lavinia said plaintively, " _won't_ you tell Mama not to shut our fairies up?"

Lady Granville seemed to be only a few years older than Sally; she had a sweet face, but just now, she looked decidedly harassed. "I had the doors locked, Robert – the children would keep slipping back in!"

"But, Mama," said Matthew, "the fairies..."

"Are very naughty fairies, Matthew," said Granville, "and until they can learn to behave, they will have to do without the pleasure of your company."

The children moaned in disappointment.

"That will do," Granville said sternly. "Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Harriet Granville."

Lady Granville bowed gracefully, and Beth and Sherlock echoed it. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for coming!"

"The pleasure is ours, madam," Holmes answered, striving to conceal his impatience. "Shall we, Lord Granville?"

"Papa, you w-won't hurt the fairies, will you?" Lavinia faltered, suddenly sounding on the verge of tears.

Hearing this, Granville crouched to look both children in the face, hands on their shoulders. "Now, don't you worry, my dears – we're going to do everything we can for them. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes have even come all the way from London to help." He straightened and gently ushered the children forward. "Come and say hello."

Beth sank to one knee to be closer to eye-level with the children and smiled reassuringly at them, extending her hand to Lavinia. "Hello." A wave of homesickness suddenly crashed over her—Lavinia was maybe just a year younger than Beth's own sister, and it took effort to not let that homesickness show. "I'm Beth."

The child took her hand and curtsied, every inch the little lady. "I'm Lavinia. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Beth's smile widened genuinely, charmed. "Thank you. It's a pleasure to make yours."

Lavinia beamed.

Matthew looked up at Holmes thoughtfully as they shook hands. "Are you _the_ Mr. Holmes, the detective?"

Holmes solemnly inclined his head. "Indeed I am, Master Granville."

Master Granville studied the detective a moment longer, then said matter-of-factly, "You don't look anything like your pictures."

"Matthew!" Lady Granville exclaimed, scandalised, while Lavinia tried in vain to stifle a giggle.

Holmes smiled, greatly amused, although replying with complete gravity, "An excellent observation, young sir – a good detective must never take anything for granted. And I strongly suspect that both of you may be able to help us solve this case." Brother and sister grew wide-eyed. "I have found that children's eyes are often far sharper than many adults'. Have either of you observed anything about these fairies which struck you as especially curious? Any detail, however small, may be of use."

"They don't have any wings!" Matthew blurted out.

"Matthew..." sighed his father.

"Well, they don't! Even tree fairies are s'posed to have wings!"

Beth noticed that Lavinia looked as though she were about to speak and then hesitated. "What is it, Lavinia?" she said gently.

"Matt's right, sort of," the little girl said, frowning. "They... don't look right."

"Besides the fact that they don't have wings?"

Lavinia nodded. "Seedlings look a bit like the plant they come from, don't they? Like the leaves?"

Beth raised an eyebrow and nodded, impressed. "Yes, they do."

"But the fairies don't look like mistletoe, or an oak tree – they don't have any leaves and their skin's the wrong colour. And it's sort of wet and shiny, like... like when you peel the bark off a stick."

"Hm, that is curious," Holmes agreed, more intrigued than ever – not least because the children had been able to observe the creatures so closely where their parents had not. "Is there anything else you've noticed? Anything about their behaviour, perhaps?"

"Well..." Matthew added reluctantly, "they're not being very nice to the Christmas tree. They keep poking the trunk and it doesn't like it."

"What makes you think that?"

Matthew gave Holmes a Look, as if the answer were obvious. "Cos its branches are going brown!"

Beth frowned and looked up at Sherlock, not liking the sound of that information. She tried to rise from her kneeling position and wobbled, unable to maintain her balance in heels—small heels, even—and a corset. Colouring slightly, she raised a hand towards him in a silent request for help.

Holmes took it at once, drawing Beth smoothly to her feet. "Thank you, children, you have been most helpful."

"Can _we_ show them the fairies, Papa?" Lavinia asked eagerly.

"No, you may not," Granville answered firmly, though not unkindly, and gestured to the footmen to unlock the doors again. "Harriet, will you take the children back to the nursery, please?" A mark of the strain the poor couple were under, Holmes silently noted in sympathy: addressing each other by their given names before company!

Lady Granville nodded emphatically and captured the children's hands. "Come along, my dears."

The children pouted but obeyed, Matthew waving at Beth over his shoulder. "Give our love to the fairies, Mrs. Detective!"

Beth grinned, eyes shining at the title given her. "I will, don't worry!" Her grin faded as the reality of the situation sunk in, and she turned to her husband, murmuring, "What if the fairies turn out be parasites?" The children would be heartbroken if anything happened to their new friends!

"Well, if that is the case," Holmes murmured back, "we may have less of a problem dealing with them! But let's not get ahead of ourselves." He couldn't think of a more inappropriate time than this to theorise without further data!

The pair followed Lord Granville into the dining hall, who took care to stop several feet away from the Christmas tree, gazing at it glumly. Holmes's eyes gleamed as he took in the spectacle: the tree was much browner now than Granville had described. "Dear me, they have been busy!" And even if he hadn't believed their clients' tale, there was most definitely _something_ alive in that tree, a faint but distinct rustling sound coming from among the branches, although nothing unusual was immediately visible.

Beth's eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Poor tree..." She approached it slowly, carefully, determined to be non-threatening enough to get close and not be hurt.

As Beth edged closer, the rustling noise quickly died away. Holmes felt the hair on the back of his neck rising, the wary gaze of the tiny creatures palpable.

"Madam, I really wouldn't advise..." Granville's low but urgent warning trailed off as Holmes turned back to him, arching an admonishing eyebrow: Beth was quite capable of minding herself. _As if_ you _weren't just about to say something like that!_ _No one can caution Beth but you, is that it?_

"...well, do be careful," the peer finished weakly.

Beth nodded in response and began to hum 'Greensleeves' softly, soothingly, as she would hum to calm a baby. She didn't exactly have a plan—she was letting her instincts guide her. She lifted her hand as she neared the tree, palm up, her eyes straining for a glimpse of the seedlings, and stopped with her outstretched fingers less than an inch from one of the tree's boughs.

After a few moments of stillness, a tiny head poked up cautiously from behind a paper flower, staring back at Beth, eyes like little black beads of glass. She faltered for a moment in wonder but recovered and continued to hum, holding still but smiling slightly. A few more seedlings started to peep out of their hiding places, their anxiety practically tangible. The one behind the flower spoke in a voice that was tiny and creaky, sounding very much like a tree limb in the wind: "Mama?"

Beth stopped humming, eyes wide, realising quickly that it _was_ talking to the tree—and it sounded like a worried child asking its mother for reassurance. "Oh," she breathed, "it's all right..." She infused her voice with the same tenderness she used when reassuring little Kathy: "It's all right, little one... I'm not going to hurt you..."

Holmes hid a smile at Granville's expression as Beth spoke, his client's eyes wide in wonder. He had to wonder himself what Beth's words to the 'fairies' must sound like to someone who had never travelled in the TARDIS – and she had gotten so close to them! It seemed that a human's age or size had less bearing on the matter than he'd supposed. "Beth?"

Beth raised her voice just slightly, keeping up the gentle tone. "Come on. Slowly." She refocused on the seedling, smiling in wonder—it was exactly as they had been described, and it was honestly one of the most adorable things she had ever seen. "You are beautiful," she murmured.

The seedling perked up visibly, nearly making her giggle, but kept its distance.

Holmes inched forward, remaining behind Beth, gaze focused over her shoulder to where she seemed to be looking. It took him longer than he expected to espy the tiny creatures, they were so well camouflaged, but when he finally did, he almost forgot to breathe. "...my word..." Holmes then noted in dismay that the seedlings seemed to be bristling at his approach – literally, tiny thorns growing out of their bodies like porcupine quills, creaking in warning. "...ah." One needn't speak Tree to understand that! The detective stepped back a couple of paces, just as carefully.

"Shhh, it's all right," Beth told the seedlings soothingly. "He's a friend. You don't have to be afraid..." She started to hum again, and the thorns began to retract, and a few more seedlings came out of hiding. Beth was having difficulty not squealing in delight—they were all so _cute_!

Deciding to remain where he was, so as not to undermine his wife's progress, Holmes asked quietly, "Beth, can you see any of them doing what Matthew described?"

Still humming, she could see a couple of them piercing the tree's bark with their sharp little fingers for several seconds before withdrawing them, glinting with fresh pine sap. She nodded slowly and stopped humming. ""It's all right," she murmured to the seedlings, "you can trust me, I promise..."

" _They keep poking the trunk and it doesn't like it... Its branches are going brown..."_ But why _that_ plant, and none of the others? Holmes looked back at the mantel over the enormous fireplace, where the unmolested garlands of holly and ivy still lay, then up at the hook set into the bricks of the chimney where the mistletoe must have been hanging last night. "I wonder..." If one stopped looking at the problem from a human viewpoint... or an adult's...

Beth sighed, half ready to give up on trying to befriend the seedlings, painfully aware that she had a limited amount of patience. "What?"

"Beth, what prompted you to speak to the seedlings just now?"

Beth frowned, looking over her shoulder. "Well, the one said 'Mama'—they're obviously sentient."

Holmes nodded, smiling. "And, Lord Granville, would I be right in thinking that the top of your Christmas tree is at much the same height as the mistletoe was hanging last night?"

Granville looked at Sherlock oddly, but measured the distance by eye all the same. "Er, yes, I suppose it is... but why...?"

"I should think your first theory was correct, sir, at least in part: the heat from the chimney _did_ make the berries open –" Although 'eggs' was probably a better description; "acting just like an incubator." And what else would a sentient baby plant imprint onto in this room but a stately adult pine, bedecked with glittering ornaments that couldn't fail to draw the eye of any child?

Beth held her pose, continuing to look over her shoulder. "They think the tree is their mother—that's why it's turning brown: they're literally babies nursing." Poor darlings.

Holmes nodded, proud that Beth had caught on so quickly. "They must have immediately imprinted onto it upon hatching, which would explain why the plants below the eggs were left alone."

Granville shook his head in deepening wonder. "Well, I never..." Then the peer's smile faded, looking worriedly at the tree. "Poor little things... and that surrogate has only got so much to give – it won't be long before they've drained it completely! What then?"

"Well, presumably, for there to be eggs," Holmes said, "there _should_ be a parent of the same species to lay them." One could only surmise at this point, as the seedlings could hardly be expected to know.

"Which," Beth added, "is hopefully near the tree the berries came from... unless she's gone looking for her children."

Holmes patted his coat pocket which still held the pillbox. "And with any luck, we'll be able to communicate to her that they've come to no harm. You said that the gardener found the nest in the Great Oak?"

"Yes, on the northern edge of the grounds. I'll take you to it."

* * *

The air outside was sharper with cold now that they were trudging through the snow on foot rather than gliding over it, wrapped up warm. Beth frowned as they neared the oak the berries had come from. "I wonder what the mother looks like—if she'll blend right in with the other trees, or not..."

Holmes hummed absently, inspecting the ground around the tree's roots – alas, no tracks were apparent besides their own in the crisp, even snow. "There's been a fresh fall overnight, I see. When did it stop?"

"Well, it can't have been later than eight this morning, that's when my wife and I arose," Granville said. "The staff would probably be able to tell you more accurately."

Yes, the scullery maids would be up before dawn, wouldn't they? Holmes looked up into the tree, wishing he had thought to request that the head gardener join them – exactly which of these snow-laden boughs had the berries come from? And he couldn't shake the nagging impression that something was out of joint up there... _Oh..._ Of course, once he'd seen it, it was obvious. "And by rights, all of the branches on this tree should be fairly evenly covered in snow..."

Beth's frown deepened. "Um..."

"That branch there," Holmes said, pointing. "See how thinly covered it is, compared to the rest? The collected snow has been knocked off during last night's fall, then allowed to gather again."

"So the mother _has_ been back!" Granville exclaimed.

"And since departed," Holmes frowned in annoyance. "Unfortunately, the last of that snowfall has covered any tracks she might have left."

Granville's face fell. "Then how on earth are we to find her?"

Beth's eyes widened at a sudden, horrible thought. "Maybe we don't have to..." As if in answer, the ground was starting to shake with pounding footsteps, the tops of the trees near the edge of the wood swaying violently as if something huge was forcing its way through them, and rapidly getting closer.

"My God," Granville gasped, "it must be gigantic!"

"Get back!" Holmes said sharply. "Away from the trees!"

* * *

 **Ria:** Someone suggested last chapter that the seedlings might be this series' version of the Cottingley fairies. That made us smile, especially since we didn't even consider that hoax while brainstorming ideas for the case! Although, thanks to KIT-10, we're now thinking about having Sally and Beth encounter Doyle at some point next season...


	5. Easier Said Than Done

**==Chapter 5==**

 **Easier Said Than Done**

 _Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple._  
― Dr. Seuss

As the shaking of the ground intensified, Beth turned, took Sherlock's hand, and hurried back towards the house. "Do you think we can sweet-talk a mother tree?!"

Keeping pace with them, Granville lifted his chin resolutely. "Only one way to find out..." He stopped abruptly, holding out his hand. "Mr. Holmes, the box, if you please."

Holmes swung round in alarm. "Lord Granville..."

But the detective was silenced by a stern look from his client, who drew himself up to his full height, jutting chin brooking no argument, every inch the lord of the manor. "I am, sir: the steward of this land –" regretfully, "and I have neglected that duty long enough."

Holmes nodded. As second heir to an estate himself, he could hear clearly what his client wasn't saying. Mistakenly or not, it had been on Granville's orders that the eggs were taken, and the man obviously felt a deep responsibility for what were, if you wanted to get technical, _his_ tenants. He handed over the pillbox with a grim, equally uncompromising smile. "Then you'll be needing a translator."

Beth straightened, turning with a worried grimace to towards the approaching... well, _Ent_ , for lack of a better word. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this...?" she muttered.

Holmes barely heard her, watching in awe as the plant mother emerged from the tree line. "Magnificent..." His brief forays into Greek literature at public school had never covered what a dryad might look like, but he couldn't imagine any description of Homer _et al_ doing this majestic creature justice!

For a moment, the detective had the bizarre impression that the creature could almost be a younger sister to the Great Oak: much the same solid trunk and sturdy limbs, although standing only half as tall. Dark fire blazed in twin knotholes, the nose and mouth mere slits below, and where the hair ought to be on a human, a thick shock of spindly twigs spiralled outwards in the shape of an oak's canopy. No leaves, Holmes noted absently, but that made sense, given the time of year. Gnarled, finger-like branches extended from the upper limbs, leg roots burying themselves deeply into the snow with every surging step, moving as if blown forward by some invisible gale... and as the creature advanced, Holmes suddenly understood his first impression: the skin – bark? – was... scaly, yet strangely smooth, lacking the deep grooves and ridges of a full-grown oak. Dear heaven, this mother _was_ young – had her stolen brood been her very first?

Holmes had to admire Granville's nerve, the peer swallowing hard but resisting the urge to step backwards under the creature's burning gaze as it swiftly drew nearer. Squaring his shoulders and pasting on a shaky smile, Granville called up, "Welcome, madam! Do not fear for your children, they are safe!" And before Holmes had time to translate, his client had opened the pillbox, revealing the berry-covered sprig.

The plant mother went from angry to enraged in an instant, mouth gaping wide in a bellow that sounded like a tree being torn out by its roots, then swept one massive arm limb straight at Granville.

"Get down!" Holmes flattened himself and Granville to the snow with only a split second to spare.

Beth nearly screamed as she dropped to the ground, adrenaline shooting through her. Distantly, she had to wonder if Tolkien had ever had a close encounter with this species. She looked up and shouted, "Your children are safe! It was a mistake—they are indoors but they are _safe_ , I promise!"

The Ent appeared thoroughly taken aback at hearing words she could understand from a human, although no less angry. _Give me my seedlings, rootless ones!_ she creaked, and pinned Granville to the ground between his shoulders with a long finger, making him gasp in pain. _Or_ this _thief dies!_

Holmes very slowly rose to his feet, hands held up placatingly. "My lady, we speak the truth: your children are safe and well, and will be restored to you at once. Please understand, the, ah, earth-herder never meant to steal your eggs, he did not even know what they were."

The Ent gave a rustling hiss like autumn leaves in the wind, not appeased in the least. _He should never have touched them!_

"He didn't know," Beth protested, rising slowly as well. Better not to explain how the eggs had been mistaken for berries—it would be just their luck if they shouldn't be messing with mistletoe, either. "Please, don't harm him—he hasn't harmed your children. We will return them to you."

Two young voices suddenly sounded close behind them, shrill with alarm: "Papa!" Lavinia and Matthew appeared in the wake of the cry, coats on but unbuttoned.

All three adults stiffened in surprise and horror. "Children, _no_!" Granville shouted, struggling in vain to rise. "Get back!"

The Ent looked as astonished as anyone, and Holmes had to wonder if she had ever seen a human 'seedling' at such close quarters... which was suddenly a lot closer, as the children plunged forward and latched onto her lower limbs before Holmes or Beth could stop them!

"Don't you hurt Papa!" Matthew shouted fiercely, kicking at the Ent's roots.

" _Please_ , Mrs. Tree," Lavinia begged, "let him go!"

Despite the danger, Holmes suddenly had to work hard to hide a smile; 'Mrs. Tree' had gone rigid at first contact, her expression reading very much like: _**What**_ _just happened and how do I get them off?_ Then the Ent's eyes suddenly widened, bending low and sniffing at both children deeply, finger unconsciously starting to lift from Granville's back.

Beth slowly released the breath she'd been holding. "They're his children," she told the Ent. "They've been watching over _your_ children."

Lavinia smiled tremulously as understanding dawned: the mother could smell the seedlings on her and her brother. "It's all right, Mrs. Tree, don't be scared." She took the Ent's nearest upper limb and patted it, Matthew taking the other. "Come and see your babies." The children began tugging the unresisting Ent towards the house between them, while Holmes helped their father to his feet, Granville looking justifiably shaken from his near brush with death.

Sighing in relief, Beth joined the men. "Are you all right, Lord Granville?" she murmured.

"Yes, quite..." Still looking too pale for that to be the truth, his eyes widened. "Oh, good God, Harriet! She'll be looking for the children."

Holmes's brows rose, well able to imagine her ladyship's reaction to the spectacle before them. "We'd best be going, then."

Beth groaned softly and hurried after the children and the Ent, hoping that Lady Harriet didn't find them too soon.

As children and Ent neared the house, the Ent halted and gave a sighing, moaning call, like the wind whistling through a forest. Suddenly there was movement in the dining hall window: the seedlings were abandoning the Christmas tree _en masse_ and gathering on the sill, squeaking in excitement.

Beth stopped short, smiling in wonder, heart filling with joy at the sight of the babies about to be reunited with their mother. She looked back over her shoulder at Sherlock and grinned.

Her husband grinned back, understanding completely; he'd never dreamed of having a case like _this_ for Christmas!

Meanwhile, the Ent had shaken off the children's hands and was striding ahead to the window.

"Oh, wait," Lavinia called, "that window doesn't open from..." There was a metallic _wrench_ and a noise of splintering glass.

Matthew winced. "Does now." He gave his father an odd look as Granville started laughing, a trifle hysterically.

Holmes sighed – what else could happen today? Then, "Oh dear..." The seedlings were all moving back from the broken casement, looking greatly distressed.

Beth grimaced. "Oh no... it's too cold for them. They hatched in the warmth—they must not have been meant to be born until spring."

"Is that why they don't have any bark?" asked Matthew.

"Can't they stay with us, Papa, till the snow's gone?" said Lavinia. "They'll be good, their real mama's here now."

Granville blinked, looking to be in a complete bind. A stately home certainly wasn't an ideal environment for several dozen sentient seedlings... but he did owe their mother a huge debt after what had happened. And, in any case, letting her children go out into the cold in their current infant state just wasn't an option.

Before he could give an answer, however, Lady Granville's voice could be heard from inside the house, sounding almost frantic. "Matthew? Lavinia!"

Lavinia exchanged a guilty look with Matthew, and the pair made a dash for the front door before their mother could emerge. "Coming, Mama!"

Holmes chuckled. "I think, Lord Granville, that your good wife is about to be well-prepared for the newest arrival."

Granville grinned ruefully. "Yes..." Mind made up, he smiled sincerely at the Ent and bowed. "My lady, you and your family are welcome to remain with us for as long as you wish."

The Ent hesitated as Holmes translated, appearing grateful for the offer, but casting an eloquently dubious glance at the dining hall and the mostly-brown Christmas tree. Holmes couldn't blame her for sharing Granville's doubts about a human dwelling being a suitable guesthouse for a family of _sentient_ plants.

Beth's eyes widened with an idea. "Lord Granville, do you have a hothouse on the grounds?"

Granville looked at her like she was a godsend. "Yes, we have several – in fact, the boiler pipe in Number One was recently repaired, I don't think we've put most of the plants back yet."

"Fa—" Beth corrected herself in time—"wonderful!"

Holmes smiled proudly as his wife visibly glowed. Beth was doing so well, just as he'd known she would.

"Robert?" Lady Granville appeared, holding the children's hands tightly, her mouth falling open at the sight of the Ent mother. Her husband hastened over to her and she flung her arms around him. "Oh, Robert, thank God!"

Granville returned the embrace gladly, gently patting her on the back. "There, there, love, we're all right. It was just a misunderstanding."

"Mrs. Tree was looking for her babies all night, Mama!" Lavinia added solemnly.

Lady Granville turned back to the Ent mother, the fear in her eyes gone in a moment. "Oh, you poor dear!"

" _Can_ they stay, Papa, please?" Matthew asked, tugging at his father's coat sleeve. "The babies could have our bedroom!"

"What?" Both the Holmeses had to suppress grins at Lady Harriet's expression.

"That's very kind of you, Matt," Granville interjected hastily, "but Mrs. Holmes is quite right..."

The children's faces fell.

"Greenhouse One should suit them much better."

The children cheered, eyes wide with relief.

Beth then realized that the Ent might have been left out of the loop and turned back to her. "The family has a warm nursery to house plants during the winter," Beth explained. "You and your children can stay there until the spring."

Lady Harriet smiled kindly at the Ent, holding out her hand. "Would you like to come and see it?"

The Ent's mouth curved in what appeared to be an answering smile, letting the woman take her by the branches – she seemed to have sensed a kindred spirit in this human mother, even if the words were strange.

"But how are we going to get the seedlings there?" Lavinia asked.

"Well, what about the sheepskin rug in your room?" her mother answered thoughtfully. "The fleece should keep them warm enough for a short journey."

Lavinia brightened. "I'll get it!"

"No, me!" said Matthew.

" _Both_ of you," Granville said sternly, "that rug will be heavy with all those seedlings. You don't want to drop them in the snow, do you?"

The children shook their heads, chastened.

"May I help?" Beth asked them, eager to interact with the baby Ents again. "I can talk with the seedlings."

Lavinia smiled and nodded.

* * *

Heading inside, Matthew waited till they were out of earshot before asking Beth, "How come you and Mr. Holmes can speak Tree?"

Beth hesitated—telling them the truth could put them in danger... or, at least, the full truth would. She had to give Matthew _something_ since he'd asked, and she couldn't think of a plausible lie. She sighed; a fanciful version of the truth was called for. _I really have learned from the best_. "We travelled for a little while... with a man who can speak every language you could dream of." She paused, then finished simply: "He gave us his gift."

Both children's eyes were wide as saucers.

"Can he do magic, then?"

"Who is he?"

Beth smiled. "Yes. Yes, he can do magic." It was hardly an exaggeration, even if you believed Clarke's Third Law. "He's rather... he's rather like Merlin, from the King Arthur tales."

"Wow..." Matthew breathed.

"What's his name?" Lavinia persisted.

Beth hesitated again. Torchwood was still out there, and the Doctor was still an outlaw, of sorts—at least as long as Victoria was alive. She shook her head regretfully. "I'm afraid that's a secret, sweetheart—a dangerous one. Still... still, you may meet him yourself, someday. He travels here and there, all over the world, and helps people who really, really need him."

Lavinia nodded, looking thoughtful. "Like you and Mr. Holmes."

"And Papa!" Matt added proudly.

Beth blushed slightly but smiled. A moment later, the children led her into a large, cheerful room that was obviously the nursery.

"This is our room," Lavinia announced.

"It's lovely." Beth gestured at an appropriately large and warm-looking rug. "Is this the one?"

"Uh-huh." Matthew flopped onto the rug, snuggling his cheek into the soft wool. "The babies'll love this!"

"Hey!" Lavinia picked up a corner of the rug and tried to tug it out from under him. Matthew gave his sister a look of pure mischief, but rolled off again.

Beth bit back a grin—little boys were little boys no matter the era—and shook her head, picking up one end of the rug. "Come on, the adults will be waiting for us."

* * *

Matthew gasped in dismay as they re-entered the dining hall: the window sill was deserted. "Oh no!"

Lavinia elbowed him, pointing. "They've gone back to the Christmas tree, silly!"

Beth moved toward the tree with the rug and the siblings in tow. "Children?" she called out in a gentle tone. "Your mama is waiting for you outside; we're here to help you get to her."

One of the braver seedlings ventured out to the end of a branch, looking doubtfully at the broken window.

"Don't worry," Lavinia smiled, running her fingers through the fleece. "This will keep you warm."

Beth bent down and slowly extended her hand towards the seedling as she had before. "It's all right, sweetheart," she said softly, in her best and well-worn soothe-the-baby voice. "We can take you to Mama all safe and warm and snug. Trust us."

The seedling brightened, drawing nearer still. Gingerly, it stepped onto Beth's hand, then gave a squeak of a giggle, kneading the squashy pads of Beth's fingers and palm with its tiny feet like a cat on a cushion.

Beth giggled, both at the sheer cuteness of the seedling and at the whisper-light tickling of its feet. "Oh my goodness, you are _adorable_."

The children laughed in delight.

The seedling was now examining Beth's thumbnail with great interest, but turned on hearing a questioning creak from the Christmas tree, beckoning and squeaking encouragingly. The rest of its siblings began to emerge from hiding, swarming down the trunk and dropping from the lower branches to the floor.

Beth watched, eyes wide but smile wider. _I can't believe I'm seeing this!_ She bent down slowly for the sake of her tiny passenger, and lowered her hand to the rug. "There you go, little one."

The seedling reached out and touched the top of the rug, eyes widening at the softness, then stepped off Beth's hand and plopped into the thick fleece, almost vanishing. "Oo!" It poked its head out again, beaming and waving at its siblings as if to say: _Come on in, it's lovely!_ The other seedlings were quick to follow, plunging into the forest of fleece, crooning in delight at the warmth and softness.

Matthew giggled. "All aboard!"

"Oh!" Lavinia started as she felt one landing on her shoulder, which had been hanging back in the tree until the last moment. "Oh, hello!" Softly, "D'you want to ride with me?"

The seedling nodded shyly.

Lavinia beamed. "All right!" The little girl lifted the flap of her coat pocket and let the seedling climb down into it.

It took all of Beth's willpower not to burst into full baby-adoration mode at the sheer _cuteness_ of the seedlings. Once it looked as though all were settled, she cleared her throat and asked, "Is that everybody?"

"That's all of them." Matthew had crawled right underneath the tree to check, and now scooted back out, he and Lavinia each taking a corner of the rug.

Beth carefully took up her end, stretching her arms to hold up the corners separately. "Can you walk backwards, or shall I?"

"We can do it," said Lavinia.

Beth nodded. "All right, then. When you're ready—and be careful."

* * *

The trio certainly made their approach heard, all merry giggles and singing. The seedlings were riding comfortably, poking their heads up out of the fleece to see where they were going and then ducking back down out of the frosty air.

 _Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green;  
Here we come a-carolling, so fair to be seen.  
Love and joy come to you, and to you our wassail, too._

They halted as they reached the hothouse, and finished:

 _And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year—  
And God send you a Happy New Year! _

A smiling Lord Granville opened the door, revealing the mother Ent in the centre of the hothouse; she had prised up some of the paving stones and taken root in the earth beneath, wearing a blissful expression as if the softer ground was akin to a warm footbath. She looked around eagerly, however, as Beth and the children entered with their precious cargo, the seedlings squealing in delight to see their mother again.

Beth grinned at Sherlock and gently lowered the rug with the children. "There you go!" she told the seedlings.

The babies left the rug in a rush, the lone seedling scrambling out of Lavinia's coat pocket. Their mother bent down to them, crooning deeply, arms outstretched, and the seedlings swarmed up, covering her and crooning back to her, their shriller voices making an eerily beautiful harmony.

The six humans watched in awe as the Ent family reunited, unconsciously drawing closer together. Holmes felt absurdly grateful for Lavinia beginning to sniff and wipe her face with her coat sleeve, as his own eyes had been growing embarassingly moist, and he was certain Beth's were, too.

Lady Harriet, seeming to realise that this magical moment was also a private one, gathered Matthew and Lavinia and quietly escorted them out, the other adults following her example. Granville closed the hothouse door behind him, knelt on the icy path and embraced both children, murmuring proudly, "Oh, my dears..."

"Papa...!" Lavinia burst into tears, arms tight around her father's neck.

There was a lump in Beth's throat. She could easily understand how the little girl must be feeling right now, everything that she hadn't had time to think about before starting to catch up: excitement and worry over the seedlings, fear for her father, relief at everything turning out all right. Thank goodness it had... _Thank you, Doctor..._

And Holmes was glad to see that this was one crisis where Granville appeared to know exactly what to do: rocking his daughter and saying softly, "It's all right, sweetheart... Brave girl... Everything's all right now..." while both parents exchanged a look that clearly said, 'Naptime'.

Matthew tugged at his mother's skirts as Lord Granville carried Lavinia back to the house, starting to look a bit tearful himself. "Is Lavvie all right, Mama?"

Lady Harriet bent down and hugged him. "Yes, darling, just tired." Looking her youngest over, who was noticeably more rumpled and begrimed than he'd started out that morning: "And a rest wouldn't do you any harm, either – it's been a long morning for everyone."

Matthew frowned at the bed-and-possible-bath-time gleam in his mother's eye, but whatever protest he'd been about to make was forgotten as he looked through the hothouse glass at the Ent babies, who were all starting to droop themselves. "...Can we have hot chocolate first?"

His mother laughed. "All right!" Then she suddenly put her hand to her heart and turned back with a smile of remorse to where the Holmeses were standing, all but forgotten in the excitement. "Would you like to join us?"

Holmes smiled, noting Beth's brightened expression out of the corner of his eye. "Madam, we'd be delighted."

* * *

 **Ria:** Woohoo, we managed to update before Christmas! Sorry about the wait, guys, the evil Dr. Reality's been at the top of his game lately. One of my biggest hurdles was working out how to describe the mother Ent from Holmes's viewpoint – who sadly hasn't yet seen Lord of the Rings, or Guardians of the Galaxy!


	6. Better Days

**==Chapter 6==**

 **Better Days**

 _"Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts."_

— _Lloyd Alexander,_ _The Black Cauldron_

Although the manor's parlour was already decorated and set for the Christmas party that evening, the room still felt far less stiff and formal than Beth had been expecting, somehow having the same homely air as the Baker Street sitting room's cosy clutter. Matthew and Lavinia sat with their heads together on the hearth rug, glancing conspiratorially at the guests, and came to whisper in their father's ear once they'd finished their hot chocolate.

Granville brightened and nodded. "That's a wonderful idea. Why don't you ask them?"

The children turned to the Holmeses. "Matt and me were wondering..." Lavinia began shyly.

"Can you come to our party?" Matthew blurted out, then blushed under his sister's scowl at the interruption.

Granville had to chuckle at his son's brashness. "If you've no prior engagement this evening? It's the least we can do to thank you!"

"We should be honoured," Holmes smiled, then glanced at Beth, who had gone from looking delighted to thoughtful. He could easily deduce what she was hoping for, but was hesitant to voice for fear of offending. "However, might we request that your guest list expand to include just two more?" It would be little enough inconvenience for extra couples to be added, it was _odd_ numbers which put a hostess out.

Granville beamed. "But of course!"

"Is Dr. Watson coming, too?" Lavinia said eagerly.

Beth nodded, beaming and barely containing her excitement. "Yes, he will be, with his wife." _We're going to a Victorian_ party _, and Sally and John are coming with us!_

"Wonderful!" Lady Harriet smiled, looking genuinely delighted at the prospect. Well, Holmes hoped he wasn't being immodest, but he knew full well that some hostesses would kill to have both himself and Watson at the same dinner party! And to have their wives now, too... Harriet Granville would be the envy of all of her friends after tonight.

"Which means we must take our leave for now, I'm afraid," Holmes said to the children.

"And since you two will be up late tonight," Granville added, "it's high time you were off upstairs."

"Yes, Papa." The children gave their father a hug goodnight; then, as Sherlock and Beth rose to say their farewells, Lavinia impulsively turned and hugged Beth as well, whispering, "Thank you!"

Beth returned the hug warmly, deeply touched by this sweet little girl and reminded all too strongly of her own sister, just a little bit older than Lavinia. _Jessie would never believe any of this_. "You're very welcome, sweetheart," Beth murmured back.

Holmes smiled at the sight, and shook hands with Matthew. "We shall look forward to seeing you all again this evening." Matthew gave him a pleased grin, which suddenly became a worried frown. "What is it, lad?" the detective asked gently.

"Are you going to tell Dr. Watson about the trees?"

Holmes blinked. He really hadn't given the matter any thought, although he certainly hadn't planned _not_ to tell Watson about this! "Well... he is my chronicler, Matthew. He records all of my cases, even the ones which aren't published." Holmes then realised his cheeks were growing warm, and fell silent. This young lordling was perfectly right to be so protective of his new tenants, what right did he have to overrule that?

"You needn't worry, son," Granville smiled reassuringly. "Dr. Watson is very good at keeping secrets."

Matthew looked unconvinced, his chin starting to jut like his father's.

"But," Holmes hastened to add, "since this is such an important secret, Matthew, Mrs. Holmes and I promise not to tell another human soul, not even Watson, unless you say we may."

"Well..." Matthew exchanged a look with his sister. "You can tell Dr. Watson..."

"And Mrs. Watson," Lavinia put in.

Matthew nodded, his stern gaze making the Granville resemblance even stronger. "But that's all."

"Very well," Holmes agreed solemnly, "you have our word."

Beth nodded with a fond smile—these kids really were precious. "We promise."

Lady Harriet herded her children off to bed, and Lord Granville led the Holmeses back to the front entrance, where the sleigh stood ready to return them to the train. Beth glanced into the dining hall as they passed; a couple of servants were removing ornaments from the half-dry tree before it too was removed. Through the window, an indistinct figure could be seen on a ladder outside, sealing up the cracks temporarily. The maids still looked a bit wary, understandably so, despite assurances from the Granvilles that the seedlings had all gone to the hothouses. _I wonder what they make of the seedlings, and if they'll forget about them or not in the future? How many people will actually know that Ents are real because of this one incident? And how long will Lavinia and Matthew be friends with their fairies?_

"I think," Beth mused aloud, "the children will practically be living in the hothouse all winter..."

Granville laughed. "Oh, indeed they will!" Holmes noted the peer's rueful expression with sympathy – there were going to be tears come Springtime when the seedlings left.

Outside, the two men shook hands in farewell. "Lord Granville," Holmes said warmly, "it's been a pleasure."

"The pleasure was ours, Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes." Granville took Beth's hand, bowing over it. "How can we ever repay you?"

"Think nothing of it, my dear sir!" Holmes laughed. "The case itself was more than we could have asked for!"

" _Absolutely_ ," Beth added, nodding. She wouldn't have missed this little adventure for the world!

"Yes..." Granville turned to gaze across the snow-carpeted grounds, eyes shining with all of the deep love and pride of the English landowner. "I'm sure my ancestors never dreamt that we would be held to account for our care of the land by its oldest inhabitants... but to not be found wanting is all I could have hoped."

* * *

The trip back to London was quiet, as if both Holmeses were saving up their thoughts on this little adventure until they could share it with the Watsons. Husband and wife were content merely to nestle in each other's embrace, particularly after that brief but sharp burst of adrenaline in dealing with the Ent mother. As they reached, in a cab, their own front door at last, Sherlock smiled, and Beth smiled in reaction. "What is it?" she asked, unable to decipher the reason for this particular smile.

"Admiring the view," her husband answered softly. The decorated tree silhouetted in the window, the evergreen wreath on the door... 221B had seldom looked so welcoming. Holmes rested his head against Beth's, glad of the warm rug covering them, provided by the driver. The old, familiar after-case weariness was fast creeping up on him, but it was more than just that, this time.

Beth followed his gaze and looked up at the window, her smile widening. "It's beautiful," she said just as softly. Christmastime on Baker Street... She sighed as the cab rolled to a halt; she'd been quite comfortable with Sherlock under their rug. She looked back at him and noted his tiredness—post-case dejection...? Even though the "case" had taken just a few hours? "All right, honey?" she said aloud.

"Mm... a little tired, perhaps." Holmes was starting to think the Granvilles had had the right idea – a short rest before going out again probably wouldn't be a bad thing...

She nudged him gently to remind him he needed to get up. "Well, fortunately, we have a few hours to kill. Which, in part, I want to be spent making sure that I _don't_ screw up on Victorian courtesy again, but we have plenty of time."

"Of course." He disentangled himself and stood up, shivering as the cold air hit, then got down and helped Beth alight.

She shivered herself, hurried to the door, and let herself in, holding the door open for Sherlock. He quickly joined her, remembering to wipe his feet on the mat this time. "Mrs. Hudson?" he called (for all the world sounding quite a lot like Jeremy Brett doing the same, Beth was amused to note).

The landlady in question appeared in the kitchen doorway, clad in a spattered apron—scrubbing potatoes, Beth thought. "Really, Mr. Holmes," she tsked, "would it hurt you to _walk_ the dozen feet to the kitchen?" A rhetorical question, clearly asked many times before. (Beth couldn't help grinning.)

"My apologies, Mrs. Hudson – I ought to have informed you that we wouldn't be home for lunch."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, well used to unexpected comings and goings by now. "I thought as much. Will the two of you require dinner this evening?"

Beth's grin widened, eyes sparkling. "Actually, no, we'll be gone." She tried to rein in her excitement, but it was _hard_. "We solved Lord Granville's case, and he invited us to his family's Christmas party tonight!"

"And the Watsons are included in the invitation as well."

"Wait, we're invited _where_?" Sally had come down from the top bedroom with Kathy in time to catch Holmes's last words.

Beth dashed up the stairs, no longer bothering to rein it in. "Christmas party! Lord Robert Granville, he came to Sherlock for help, we solved his case, and he's invited the four of us to his family's Christmas party tonight!"

Sally's mouth fell open. "Oh, _wow_."

"So that was his lordship this morning?" Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Well, we'd best be getting you two ready! Your gowns will likely need pressing..." and she vanished back into the kitchen to get started on heating the iron.

Beth turned wide eyes to her best friend. "Yeah, and Sherlock has got to give me a crash course on etiquette." She was still ready to die of embarrassment remembering her horrible _faux pas_ earlier.

Watson emerged from the sitting room behind Sally, still jotting in his notebook. "A crash course on etiquette for a Christmas party?" And Holmes was willingly attending? Beth continued to prove that miracles never did cease!

Beth nodded. "Sal, how 'bout you?"

"Sure, I could use a few practice curtseys." Dining at the Savoy hadn't given Sally much chance to see what the other female diners were doing. She really was going to have invest in an etiquette guide one of these days!

"Great!" Beth was relieved that her best friend-with-a-bachelor's-in-history was going to need a refresher's course, too. "Practice session then..." She looked at her tired husband. "Just after this one's had a lie-down."

Watson smiled sympathetically, knowingly, at his friend—he had, of course, experienced the post-case fallout mild and extreme a million times before. Hopefully, this time the fallout would be mild, for Beth's sake as much as her husband's and perhaps because of her, as well.

Holmes smiled back ruefully. "Remind us to tell you about it later." Innocently, knowing that both Watsons must be wild with curiosity, "I think you'll find it a most interesting account – although definitely not one for the _Strand_!"

Watson narrowed his eyes—a long experience with Holmes's wicked streak certainly never made _that_ any easier to deal with! "All right, all right. To bed with you, then."

Beth smiled apologetically at John, taking that as her cue, and pulled Sherlock into their bedroom. "I have to admit... I'm kind of tired from the trip."

Holmes closed the door behind them and gratefully put his arms around her, finally letting himself relax completely. He hated taking naps as a rule, it was too reminiscent of childhood for his liking, but for such pleasant company, he was willing to make an exception...

Smiling, Beth wound her arms around him in return and nuzzled him gently. "Hi..."

He nuzzled her back, smiling tenderly, proudly. "Hello, Mrs. Detective." He finally had a new nickname for her, it seemed.

She giggled, colouring a bit. "That was sooo cute. They were precious."

"Indeed they were." Holmes chuckled. "Although that young Matthew must be a handful!" The young man had rather reminded him of himself at the same age... _and that's half the trouble, isn't it?_

"I'm sure," Beth giggled quietly, then realised that her husband was looking pensive again. She reached up and cupped his cheek. "Sweetheart... is something wrong?"

Holmes sighed, he should have known she'd notice. But, God, how to say it without sounding completely petty...

Sighing internally, she nuzzled him again and kept her tone gentle. "What is it?"

"It just... seems so foolish," he murmured, cheeks growing warm. "I never imagined, after all this time, that I... could feel envious of a child..." Seeing Lavinia and Matthew in such grand surroundings, but still being raised so well, so lovingly... What wouldn't his younger self have given for even one parent like that?

Her mouth formed an "o" as she understood, heart aching. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, and tenderly stroked his cheek.

He leaned into her touch, his own smile faintly bitter. "Whoever said one cannot miss what one never knew was greatly mistaken."

"I know..." She did know that feeling, a little bit. "My poor love..." She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

He returned it, tightening his hold as he went on quietly, "Father never said... but I knew he blamed me for Mother's illness." The few unguarded moments of raw resentment in those typically cold grey eyes had been eloquent enough.

She couldn't think of anything to say to that, could only feel yet another pang of hatred for her father-in-law for being so horrible to his own son. _Don't think about Sherlock being a sad little boy; you'll only start bawling_... Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tightened her own hold and rubbed his back soothingly with both hands.

"It took me... a long time... to understand that he was wrong." He didn't even know if he truly believed that now...

Beth blinked back tears. Once she had her own means of time travel, it would always be a struggle to not go back in time and comfort her husband's childhood self. Still rubbing his back, she murmured, "You should never have had to figure that out... Poor sweetheart..."

Holmes snuggled his head against hers, the tension slowly draining out of him. "I suppose that's the main reason I... lack enthusiasm for this particular holiday. I know it's meant to be a time to pause and reflect..." But there were a great many memories he would prefer to keep buried.

For a moment, there was silence. Beth broke it softly. "It's meant to be a time for _family_... something you definitely have in abundance." She softened her voice further, remembering something he'd told her when she was starting to have new nightmares. "We're here for you, honey. You're going to start having new and better memories."

He looked up with a misty smile, unable to speak just at the moment, then leaned in and kissed her.

She returned the kiss, gently, then smiled against his lips. "Come on, nap-time for you, mister." She wouldn't mind a nap herself, not after all the traveling she'd already done today. Sherlock hummed in agreement, sitting on the bed to take off his shoes. Beth leaned against the bedpost and balanced carefully to undo her boots, then sat beside her husband. "Mind helping me with the evil fashion device?"

"My pleasure." He waited till Beth had taken off her outer clothing, down to her corset and undershift, then unlaced her carefully.

"Thanks." Wearing a corset day-to-day wasn't as bad as it had been with her wedding gown, but she still hated the constant cage around her body, and could have cheerfully murdered everyone involved in the making and marketing of it as a vital part of women's clothing. She sighed in relief as Sherlock took the stupid thing off and flopped backward onto the mattress.

Holmes stripped down to his drawers and undershirt, bent over Beth and kissed the tip of her nose. "Pardon me, my lady," he murmured, "but you seem to have stolen all the blankets."

She arched an eyebrow, smile widening. "Move me, then, why don't you?" He arched an eyebrow back, eyes glinting with mischief, edging a hand towards her ribs. She startled up from the mattress and away from his hand, eyes wide. "No!"

Holmes's grin was wicked as he slipped under the covers, and more than a little smug – what did she expect, she had challenged him!

She narrowed her eyes in return, then pulled the covers back on her side and slipped in. She continued to eye him suspiciously as if waiting for him to try to attack her again—she was pretty sure he wouldn't, but she felt a bit playful all of a sudden.

He chuckled, taking her hand and kissing it. "My lady..." No need for Beth to look at him like that, he was much too tired to take things further just now.

Her glare evaporating, she giggled, and scooted up against him and relaxed, melting into the mattress.

Holmes put his arm around her, lazily stroking her back with his fingertips, smiling drowsily. "I love you."

Her eyelids fluttered at his touch, a little thrill running up her spine, blissfully happy just to be held like this. "I love you..." She nestled a bit closer and tucked her head beneath his, and drifted slowly but contentedly to sleep.

* * *

Beth drifted into consciousness as slowly as she had drifted out of it. The pale sunlight helpfully reminded her that it was only the afternoon and they had a party to get ready for that night... although... She tipped her head up to see her husband still sleeping peacefully. _Kinda wish we could be lazy for the rest of the day. ...but then, you've been doing a lot of that lately, haven't you? ...true..._ A little change of pace wouldn't hurt.

She stretched and realised that Sherlock's hand was still loosely wrapped around hers. He stirred at the motion, fingers tightening slightly on hers again, eyelids fluttering— _gosh, it's not fair even for your own husband to be that beautiful_. At the very least, it made her want to kiss him senseless on a regular basis. She limited herself just now, though, to raising her hand to his cheek and stroking it lightly.

"Mm..." He smiled at her touch, eyes blinking open. "Hello..."

Smiling back, she kissed his fingers lightly. "Afternoon."

Oh, yes, they were going out later, weren't they? _But not quite yet..._ Holmes cupped Beth's cheek and kissed her softly. She hummed happily, winding her fingers through his hair. "Mm..." God, she was so lovely... "My sunshine..."

Her smile widened. "Kitty..." She kissed him again, then sighed as reality intruded on her thoughts. "I guess we'd better get up..."

Holmes groaned softly. "I suppose we must." Although he had to admit he was feeling much better for having rested.

Beth smiled in sympathy. "You and John still going to help me 'n' Sally out?"

"Of course." He stroked her cheek. "There's no need to be nervous, love. The fundamental rule of etiquette is to do your best to put others at their ease. You won't be censured for a mistake, especially if people can see you're making an effort."

Not terribly reassured, she leaned into his touch, half wishing they had the time to go further. "If you say so."

He nodded, kissing her again. "You'll have a wonderful time, _cherie_ , I promise." The dinner at Windsor had gone well enough, and there would be many more guests this time, hopefully making Beth feel less conspicuous.

She sighed and nodded. "All right, I'll try."

* * *

Holmes and Watson took the stage – well, the sitting room floor – with Sally and Beth watching from the settee. "Now, I'm sure you girls already know this," Watson began, "but it's worth repeating: the most important rule of etiquette is the Golden Rule."

Sally smiled—as a history major, she had more of an idea of what to expect from this session than Beth. " _Respect_ others the way you want to be respected?"

"Precisely. Keep that in mind and you'll always make a good impression, even if you mistakenly use the wrong fork or greet someone too informally."

"Speaking of which," Holmes put in, "we won't be addressing anyone by first names, not even each other."

Watson nodded. "It'll be 'Mr. or Mrs. Holmes', 'Dr. or Mrs. Watson'."

"Or the three of us, being close acquaintances, may refer to Watson as 'the doctor'."

" _That_ one, I do know, yeah," Beth said, already tired and frustrated with stupid etiquette that wouldn't allow you to call your own husband by his first name. "Make its way into books..."

No more thrilled than Beth, Sally made a face.

"All right," Watson said, "we'll try to keep things as simple as possible here. Fortunately, you won't have to make your own introductions, that's the duty of the host and hostess." He and Holmes turned to face each other. "And as a general rule, ladies also bow when introduced, rather than curtsey."

"Except in a ballroom," Holmes added.

Watson gave him a pointed look: _Stop being so helpful_. "Which will do for another time."

"Got it," said Sally.

Beth nodded—it was simple enough thus far, but she couldn't stop thinking about her fiasco early that morning.

"Now, regardless of what you may have seen in films, there's no need to bend at the waist at all. Just a gracious inclination of the head – like so." Both men bowed to each other, Holmes taking the lead.

Sally grinned—it was kind of fun watching the two of them. "Mm-hm." She noticed, too, that Beth was finally grinning as well, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands. Good. She knew it would be difficult going for a while yet, but Beth needed to work towards getting a handle on her anxiety over how to act in this century.

Her husband grinned back. "Not forgetting to smile _pleasantly_ , of course. Now you two try it."

Beth raised a hand. "I did it earlier!"

Sally snorted a laugh. "And I don't think we could manage _straight_ smiles right now."

Holmes chuckled, also relieved to see Beth beginning to enjoy herself. "Very well, then."

"Who goes first, though?" Sally thought she knew, but wanted to confirm it.

"The lady, or if between two of the same sex, the higher ranking or elder bows first."

Sally nodded and sighed. "Which'll be almost everybody else."

Beth hummed, frowning slightly. "And if you genuinely don't know, you go first anyway?"

"Yes," Holmes said slowly, "although you should be able to tell from the initial introduction. And you needn't bow whenever you encounter them in the room – twice at most is enough."

"Right."

Sally exhaled. "Sooo... what else?"

Watson frowned in thought. "Mm, everything else is either basic good manners, or you'll be able to copy the other ladies in the room..."

Holmes caught his eye. "Escorts."

"Oh, yes... When leaving, entering or crossing a room, ladies must always be accompanied."

"Even the married ones." One of the more nonsensical conventions, in Holmes's opinion.

The girls traded looks, neither of them happy. Why the hell did Victorians have to be so... so _perfectly proper_ , anyway? Sally looked half-disbelievingly, half-pleadingly, at her husband. " _Seriously_?"

"I'm afraid so," Watson nodded. "Although it needn't be with a gentleman, you can have another lady with you instead."

Holmes gave his wife's frustrated sigh a smile of sympathy. "And be warned, none of us will be sitting together during dinner. We'll all be assigned different guests as dining partners."

Beth was past beginning to despair again and already quite a ways down that road. "Oh my gosh..."

Sally shook her head. "I want to know who comes up with all this stuff." Preferably so that she could hunt them—him, in all probability—down in the TARDIS, chew them out, and let Beth punch them in the face.

Beth looked at Sally, eyes wide. "We're not going to be able to remember all of this constantly— _I'm_ not going to be able to remember all of this constantly! You'll probably do okay..." She turned back to the men, shaking her head. "How... how are we... seriously, I mean..."

"Well, that last one keeps close acquaintances from monopolising each other during the dinner conversation." Watson smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry, Lady Granville will have made an effort to invite gentlemen you can converse with easily."

Holmes came to sit on Beth's other side, putting his arm around her. "Just be your usual charming selves, observe the other women for the rest, and everything will be fine."

Sally nodded slowly and shrugged.

Beth, despite Sherlock's embrace, folded her arms on her knees and dropped her head onto them with an explosive sigh.

Sally nudged her gently. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're lucky—you've already met the family once!"

Beth raised her head. "Well, that's the one bright spot in this zedding mess of Victorian etiquette."

Sally brightened. "So? What _happened_ this morning?"

Beth couldn't help her eyes lighting up despite the anxiety of the coming evening. " _Baby trees_. Baby trees happened, and they were _adorable!_ "

Sally's eyes were wide. "What, like... little Treebeards?!"

Grinning, Beth nodded enthusiastically. "And they were so precious! They were this big!" She gestured appropriately with her fingers. "They'd been hatched by accident—that shouldn't have happened until spring."

"But where'd they come from?"

Holmes took the pillbox out of his coat pocket – a memento of the case, courtesy of Lord Granville. "They hatched from these. Lord Granville's gardener brought them in off an old oak tree, thinking it was ordinary mistletoe."

Beth nodded. "Hang it above a fire, and you have more than enough warmth for heat-sensitive egg-berries to open."

Sally nodded slowly. "Just like an incubator..."

Watson was already jotting down notes. "What happened after that?"

"Well, the berries had been hung up in the dining hall as part of the decorations for tonight's festivities – which included a large Christmas tree..."

"Ohh boy." Sally winced, already having an inkling where the story was going.

Holmes nodded, chuckling. "And being newly hatched, the seedlings immediately imprinted onto the largest plant in the room!"

"Imprinted... they thought the tree was their mother!" Watson raised both eyebrows. "Where was the real mother?"

Beth winced. "Out searching for her babies. She was, um... well, let's say she wasn't a happy camper when we met up with her."

Sally's lips pursed in a silent whistle. "No kidding! She must've been about ready to mulch someone!" _She_ certainly would have been!

Watson winced at that unpleasant mental image. "I take it, however, no one was actually 'mulched'?"

"Thankfully, no," Holmes said gravely, "although Lord Granville came rather close." It could all so easily have ended in blood, the TARDIS's translation notwithstanding.

Watson winced again. "How, pray tell, did he escape the wrath of a frantic mother? And at what point, for that matter, did Lord Granville come to you for help?"

Holmes grinned at Watson's impatience. "All in good time, my dear fellow! The Granvilles have two young children, Lavinia and Matthew – you'll meet them tonight, of course. They were the first to discover the seedlings, although they thought the tiny creatures were tree fairies to begin with."

"Well, that's understandable!" Sally laughed.

Beth smiled at the memory of meeting the children. "They're really sweet. Anyway, naturally they ended up telling their parents and it was soon discovered that the poor brown tree really did have lots of itty-bitty occupants."

"And Lord Granville wasted no time in posting down to London."

"I bet," said Sally. "Good thing you two solved the case with time to spare."

Holmes exchanged a look with Beth. "Well, to be honest... I should think it was the children who deserved most of the credit!"

Beth nodded. "They befriended the seedlings and saved their father from... getting squashed. We were just able to talk with the trees, that was all." She shrugged.

"Of course, the TARDIS! So you reunited mother and babies..." Sally sighed wistfully – of all the adventures to miss out on, it had to be one like this!

"With some help all around, yes..." Beth turned and hugged Sally lightly. "Don't worry—you're totally going to meet them if we can manage it!"

"Since they hatched prematurely, the seedlings aren't ready to face the elements yet. It was Beth's idea that Lord Granville allow them to stay with their mother in one of his hothouses until the spring."

Beth couldn't help beaming just a little. "I'm sure the Granvilles wouldn't mind your taking a peek, and Mama Ent might not mind, either—she'd be able to speak with you two, too."

Watson shook his head in amazement. "It's extraordinary." Talking, walking trees in the middle of England! "I wonder where this family came from?"

Holmes shrugged. "Who knows? Lord Granville is under the impression that their species has been here as long as the land itself – and he may well be right."

"That _would_ make a lot of sense," Sally nodded thoughtfully. "There's references to dryads and similar 'spirits' through centuries of literature and mythology." She grinned. "Makes you wonder how many people have actually seen one..."

Beth frowned slightly, thinking of the baby Ents—how many other instances in history had there been of Ent eggs mistaken for mistletoe? _How many babies—no, stop_. "I'm not sure I want to think about that." She had to swallow a rising lump in her throat before she continued. "Humans in general aren't exactly known for their understanding nature..."

"Mm. Although..." Holmes smiled at the memory of Lady Harriet and the mother Ent bonding over their children, once the initial shock had worn off. "I should think it safe to say that the Granville family will be handing down some new traditions for future generations."

Sally laughed. "Yeah, no more mistletoe, for a start!"

Watson chuckled. "Lord, it's already going to be a long time before I can look at mistletoe again without thinking of sentient seedlings!"

Sally bounced a little on the settee cushions, eyes sparkling. "I can't wait for tonight!"

* * *

 **Ria:** Sorry, guys, we're painfully aware of how long this update has been in coming! In our defence, though, we have been hard at work putting Season 2 together, and it's gonna be a doozy! ;)

 **Sky:** And I'm afraid I was mostly the one holding the update up, but... a LOT of life has been happening to me this year. :P And when I thought I'd try to get back into the swing of things with this ep, it felt very good and natural and not almost-forced like it felt before, so hopefully you're also getting a better chapter for the wait! :D


	7. What Child Is This?

**==Chapter 7==**

 **What Child Is This?**

 _"There is something about Christmas that requires a rug rat. Little kids make Christmas fun. I wonder if we could rent one for the holidays."_

― Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

The servants on either side of the massive front door bowed low as the couples entered the manor that evening. "Oh, wow...!" was all Sally could think to whisper as she held her husband's arm tightly, starry-eyed with delight. Going over the snow-covered grounds in the sleigh had been a treat in itself, and now... a veritable forest of Christmas greenery adorned the front hall and grand staircase, holly and ivy leaves winking gold in the light of two massive candletrees. Rosewood Hall had never looked like this!

Watson smiled, enjoying her delight and quite agreeing with her—his inner storyteller was already writing up a description of the place. He had been to holiday parties and balls before, of course, but the pleasure of a large house decorated for Christmas had never worn off for him.

In spite of her nerves, Beth couldn't help being starry-eyed herself. As gorgeous as everything was by daylight, it truly became _magical_ by night. "I know, right?" she whispered back to Sally.

"Dressing room first," Holmes murmured to Beth, and guided her down the hall to the room that had been set aside for female guests. "Give your things to the maid, I'll be back in a moment."

Watson kissed Sally's cheek and nodded her into the room before following Holmes.

Beth stayed close to Sally as they surveyed the room, her anxiety starting to return. "I guess it makes sense to have this," she whispered. "We probably don't look quite the way we did when we left home..."

"Yeah, I've probably got hat hair." Sally removed her coat and bonnet, letting the waiting maid take them to hang them up. "Thank you." She surveyed herself in the full-length mirror critically, tucked in a few stray hairs and adjusted her gown so that the skirt hung straight; nodded in satisfaction, then stepped aside to let Beth have her turn.

Taking a deep breath, Beth moved in front of the mirror and studied herself. She smoothed down her hair and skirt as Sally had, and bit her lip, caught for one moment in a memory she would rather have stayed buried. With the possible exception of her official wedding, the last time she'd looked this pretty had been senior prom... _Not now_. She took another deep breath, praying that she wouldn't goof anything up tonight and that it really would turn out to be fun.

Sally beamed at Beth's reflection. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess..." Beth narrowed her eyes playfully at her friend. "How dare you be so chipper when I've got butterflies in my stomach!"

Sally stuck out the tip of her tongue, grinning – she had plenty of butterflies of her own! "Come on, the boys will be waiting."

"All right, all right..." Beth hung back a moment, though, and nodded at the door. "After you." Once Sally swept past, Beth followed her to find their husbands waiting out in the hall.

Holmes offered her his arm again, smiling encouragingly. "Shall we, Mrs. Holmes?"

Beth nodded, smiling back in spite of herself, and took his arm. _It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be fun_. _It's gonna be okay_.

Sally took John's arm, trying not to smile too widely in her excitement, though without much success. _Here we go!_

* * *

A footman led the way to the parlour, Holmes noting as they were announced that most of the other guests appeared to have arrived ahead of them. The Granvilles were all present, too, mingling with the company. Lavinia looked up from where she sat beside a white-haired woman in black satin; the little girl beamed at the four of them, mouthing a 'hello'. Matthew sat with Lord Granville and another, stouter gentleman whom Holmes didn't recognise; the lad looked almost beside himself with excitement, whispering in his father's ear.

Lady Harriet had been seated near the door, talking with a greying, whiskered gentleman and his wife, but excused herself and came forward. "Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, how delightful to see you again!" The trio exchanged bows.

"It is a pleasure to be here again, Lady Granville," Holmes replied. "Allow me to make known to you Dr. and Mrs. Watson."

Lady Harriet bowed to the couple, and they returned the courtesy. "Thank you for your kind invitation, Lady Granville," Watson smiled.

"It was our pleasure, Dr. Watson. We're so glad you could join us."

Granville excused himself and came forward as well. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes."

Holmes bowed with Beth. "Good evening, Lord Granville."

Beth gave Granville a genuine smile. Nervous though she was, she liked the Granvilles themselves very much. (She didn't know if trying to be friends with them would be... kosher, by Victorian standards, but she felt sure they could be very good friends.) "Good evening, sir."

"I understand that congratulations are in order?" Lady Harriet smiled. "You must be very proud!"

Sally blinked in surprise, then recovered, blushing. "Why, yes, thank you!"

Watson beamed. "Indeed we are, thank you, my lady." More than she would ever know.

"Now, do come and meet the other guests." Lady Harriet began with the couple she had been talking to, slowly moving around the room clockwise, while her husband took the Holmeses in the opposite direction. "Colonel Stanton, Mrs. Stanton, allow me to introduce Doctor and Mrs. Watson."

The couple rose and bowed, the Watsons following suit.

"Colonel Stanton is of the Royal Marines, lately stationed at Portsmouth. Mrs. Stanton paints watercolour seascapes, among her many talents." To the Stantons, "Doctor Watson writes for the _Strand_ magazine, and he and Mrs. Watson have been newly blessed with a daughter."

"Ah-ha, _the_ Dr. Watson, eh?" As John and the Colonel shook hands, Sally was impressed to see that Stanton never allowed his gaze to stray towards Sherlock on the other side of the room. "Congratulations, my dear fellow."

Watson smiled. "Thank you, Colonel." Then his eyebrows drew together as a memory tugged at his mind. "Stanton of the Royal Marines... You wouldn't happen to know another colonel, a Matthias Hayter, of Her Majesty's Indian Army?"

While the two men compared notes, Sally decided she'd heard enough congratulations about Kathy just now, there'd probably be a lot more of that this evening. "You're fond of art, Mrs. Stanton? I am, too – I should be very interested to see your work."

Mrs. Stanton turned pink with pleasure, and the two women were soon deep in an animated discussion about the joys and frustrations of their artistic pursuits.

Across the room, the Holmeses had been introduced by Granville to a particular friend of his wife's, Lady Daphne Mellington: unmarried, an excellent horsewoman, and played the cello for her own amusement.

"Her ladyship has kindly agreed to give us a recital after dinner."

"We look forward to hearing you, Lady Mellington," Holmes responded with enthusiasm. "The cello is a marvellous instrument. How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was a young girl." Lady Mellington chuckled lightly. "Although I do remember begging my mother to let me learn something smaller, like the violin!"

Beth smiled sympathetically. "Oh, it's too bad Sh—Mr. Holmes didn't think to bring his violin." She grinned at her husband, positive that he would never haved played his Stradivarius 'in public' like this. "We might have had a small concert."

Holmes nodded a 'well done' to Beth for catching the slip, looking innocently regretful at the suggestion. Yes, it was expected of musical guests to contribute to the evening's entertainment, but no one was going to make him perform for a roomful of strangers, thank you!

"Oh, of course, I'd quite forgotten you play, Mr. Holmes! Well, I'm sure we shall all look forward to hearing you on another occasion."

"Too kind, my lady," Holmes murmured, and turned the conversation tactfully to which pieces Lady Mellington intended to play.

"Mrs. Holmes," Lord Granville said quietly while the other two were talking, "may I introduce you to your escort into dinner tonight?"

Beth turned to him and murmured, "Of course, sir, thank you." Getting to know the person now would definitely be nice.

Granville caught his wife's eye, offered Beth his arm, and escorted her across the room to where the Watsons were still talking to the Stantons. Sally gave Beth an encouraging smile as the pair approached; from what she could hear where she was sitting, the Colonel would have no trouble drawing Beth out.

Lady Harriet skillfully detached Watson from the group, and led him over to where Lavinia was still sitting with the older woman in black. "Lady Carlisle, allow me to present Dr. Watson, whose accounts of Mr. Holmes's cases you have so much admired." To Watson, "Lady Carlisle is of the Carlisles of Staffordshire, and the children's godmother."

Lady Carlisle sat forward slightly instead of rising, and bowed. "Delighted, Dr. Watson."

Watson bowed in turn. "The pleasure is mine, my lady." Some dowager ladies, he knew, could be as cool and aloof as their departed husbands had been, and he had little liking for the breed. But he had already observed genuine warmth and affection between the woman and her charge, and few things recommended a person quicker to John Watson than a warm regard for children.

Lavinia rose and curtseyed. "We're so pleased you could come, Dr. Watson. Papa's read Matthew and me all your stories, we like them very much!"

Smiling, Watson bowed to the little girl, and could not help wondering what his own daughter would look like at that age. "I am delighted to hear it, Miss Granville. Do you have a favourite?"

"Well, Matthew's is 'The Speckled Band'..." Lavinia's expression clearly revealed what she thought of her brother's fascination with snakes. "But I like 'The Blue Carbuncle' most."

Watson's smile widened. "Well, you and your brother have good taste: those are two of my favorites as well. What other books do you like to read?"

"Oh, lots of things! But fairy stories are the best." Lavinia beamed at Lady Carlisle. "Godmother sent me a big book of them for my birthday!"

Lady Carlisle tutted, features stern but eyes twinkling. "Hush, child..."

"Oh, I like fairy stories very much," Watson agreed. "Sometimes, I rather think they're truer than most people believe." He winked surreptitiously at Lavinia. And now that he'd been reminded of the seedlings' existence, he was burning with curiosity to see them and hear more about them.

The little girl's eyes widened. "Oh, so do I. ...Would you and Mrs. Watson like to see my book later? It's got some beautiful pictures of fairies."

"We would like that very much, my dear, thank you."

Matthew, who looked as if he was about to burst, got to meet the Watsons next, talking so loudly in his excitement that his mother had to quiet him with a warning look, while the other guests hid smiles.

The remaining introductions were eventually performed: Sir Vincent Braithwaite, a fellow collaborator on a charity project of Lord Granville's; his wife, Lady Susan (an accomplished seamstress, but who detested sewing machines); and lastly, Dr. Crawford, a widely-travelled bachelor who had gained his doctorate in anthropology through 'the study of environmental influence on religious beliefs'. Holmes could only feel thankful that religion was a forbidden subject for dinner party conversation.

* * *

Ten minutes before dinner was due to be announced, the twelfth and final guest arrived. Reverend Wilmot, whom Sally had been informed would be her dining partner, beamed around the room, a bundle of newspapers tucked neatly under one arm. "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. My humble apologies for my tardiness, although I think that I shall be quite forgiven when I deliver a most splendid piece of news. The much-anticipated birth of his Highness the Duke of York's second son has at last taken place, this very afternoon."

If Sally hadn't already been sitting down, she would have needed to, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Beth from across the room. Her memory of the royal family tree was a little sketchy, but... _December 1895... the second son... oh my God, George the Sixth, it has to be!_

Fortunately, the announcement had caused an absolute sensation among the other guests as well, etiquette mostly forgotten as everyone demanded details, poring over the announcements in the papers which the reverend had so thoughtfully brought. The discussion continued as the company went in to dinner, speculation abounding over the baby's name.

"Do you think they'll name him Albert?" Sally couldn't resist asking innocently. She and Beth seated themselves with the other women, their chairs pushed in by the gentlemen.

"After his great-grandfather?" said Lady Braithwaite, peeling off her gloves. "What a lovely thought!"

Beth hummed in agreement, doing her best not to vibrate in delight. It might have been half due to the movie with Colin Firth as 'Bertie', but George VI was one of the Royals she actually _did_ want to meet—the impression she'd gotten of him was that he would be quite a brave man, not born to be king, but rising to meet that challenge when he had to. "Her Majesty wouldn't object to the Prince's _namesake_ being born on the anniversary of his passing, would she?"

"Oh, I do hope you're right," Lady Mellington said. "That would be so kind of the Duke and Duchess."

"A baby prince for Christmas!" Lavinia sighed romantically. "It's just like the Bible story!"

"Yes," Reverend Wilmot chuckled. "It could only have been timed better if he'd arrived on the day itself!"

"I'm sure the Duchess didn't think so," Sally said wryly, sharing a sympathetic grin with Lady Harriet, and was pleasantly surprised when almost everyone laughed.

Lord Granville rose and tapped his champagne flute. "Ladies and gentlemen, on this most joyous occasion, I propose a toast to our new prince." Everyone stood and raised their glasses. "Long life to him and the love of his people."

"The prince," echoed the company solemnly.

"God bless him!" somebody murmured.

Lord Granville invited Reverend Wilmot to say the grace, who genially accepted, and the first course was carried in: oysters on platefuls of chipped ice.

All seemed to be going well. Just as Watson had predicted, Beth and Sally were able to copy the other ladies at the table without betraying that this was their first dinner party, the Holmeses' wedding notwithstanding. Holmes refused the first course politely, having no liking for oysters, and resumed his earlier conversation about horses with Lady Mellington, both of them enthusiastic riders.

Lavinia had also refused, sitting quietly for the moment while her neighbours did justice to their food. Even with the Christmas tree gone, there was plenty to look at while waiting for the next course: the gowns and jewels of the other ladies, the hall decorations, and the table itself was a feast for the eyes! Bonbon dishes, pyramids of candied and fresh fruit, crystal vases of hothouse flowers... Lavinia's brow wrinkled. Was that...? The nearest vase, it looked like something was moving among the flower stems... _Oh no... please, dear Jesus, make it only be a spider!_ The little girl had to stifle a gasp as a tiny head popped out for a moment, black eyes gleaming with mischief, then dropped her hand again hastily. She glanced nervously at Dr. Crawford on her left; thank goodness, he didn't seem to have noticed, still talking to Mrs. Stanton.

Watson noticed the little girl's distress and leaned over slightly. "Whatever is the matter, my dear?" he murmured.

Lavinia looked at him gratefully, but with more than a hint of panic in her voice as she whispered back, "Prickleberry! He's on the table!" The shy seedling who had ridden in her pocket back to his mother had grown much bolder since that morning's adventure; he must have sneaked into one of the other hothouses while the flowers were being selected!

Watson frowned. "Who—one of the seedlings?"

"Yes, he's in those flowers!" Lavinia pointed furtively at the vase. "If anyone else sees him...!"

Watson nodded, thinking quickly. "Good eyes." The seedling must be hiding again—Watson couldn't see it. "Don't worry, it'll be all right." Fortunately, he was sitting next to his host, and turned to Granville. "Lord Granville?" he murmured urgently. "Your daughter has spotted one of the seedlings on the table."

 _Oh, God..._ Granville should have foreseen something like this happening, but of all the worst possible times... He scanned the table fruitlessly. "Where is it, in the flowers?"

"Yes, Lavinia's."

"Well, that's something." What to do, what to do... Ask one of the steelier-nerved servants to replace the flowers with another arrangement? No, the odds of the seedling jumping out anyhow were too high, and all eyes would be on the vase at that moment! They needed a diversion... Granville caught the eye of a nearby footman, refilling Dr. Crawford's sherry glass. While the young man poured fresh glasses for Dr. Watson and himself, Granville said quietly, "Tilford, a word in your ear: in about two minute's time, I believe there is going to be a sizeable disturbance at the other end of the table."

Tilford blinked. "There is, your lordship?"

"If you would be so obliging as to inform Lady Harriet."

Tilford recovered, although still looking a little bewildered. "Yes, my lord."

"Thank you."

Perhaps he'd sounded a little too grateful; on Granville's right, Lady Carlisle inclined her head towards him as Tilford continued on around the table. "Robert," she murmured, "what _are_ you up to?"

Granville closed his eyes a moment, suppressing the urge to groan. "Pray indulge me for the moment, madam? Explanations will be given later, I promise you." As an old family friend, Gladys Carlisle had demonstrated many times that she could keep secrets when it mattered most, but Granville prayed this particular one might not prove too much for the dowager's constitution!

Lady Carlisle arched a classic eyebrow. "Very well." And she turned serenely back to her other neighbour, Colonel Stanton, who was regaling Mrs. Holmes with stories from his service in India.

Watson leaned back towards Lavinia. "My dear," he said softly, "there is about to be a distraction at the other end of the table. Could you hide the seedling properly then?"

Lavinia nodded, smiling in relief.

By now, Holmes had noticed the exchanges and furtive glances between the three conspirators, and Lavinia's fixed gaze on the flowers in front of her. He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Watson: _Everything all right?_

Watson gave him a warning look in return and a swift little shake of his head: _Don't look now; act normally_.

Sally looked up just in time to catch the exchange, eyes narrowing – what were those two up to? And she was much too far away to ask without drawing attention, dammit. "Well, I've never played whist myself, Reverend, but it's always seemed to me a fascinating game. What advice do you have for a complete novice?"

Beth had looked up at the same time as Sally, and found herself just as unable to inquire. She sighed softly and tried to return her attention to Colonel Stanton's story about elephants in the British Army—she was definitely starting to understand why Sherlock didn't go in for socializing all that much.

Granville watched anxiously from under his brows as Tilford reached his wife, murmuring in her ear while refilling her glass. Harriet's brow furrowed for a moment, but then gave a slight nod. Meeting her husband's eyes, she nonchalantly touched her oyster fork.

No entrée had ever seemed to last as long as this one... but eventually the diners had all finished, the used cutlery and plates gathered up by the staff. A different footman walked past the far end of the table, bearing a tray of oyster forks... and even those half prepared for something to happen couldn't help jumping in surprise at the huge clatter that came from every fork falling to the polished wood floor behind Lady Harriet, followed closely by the tray.

As the red-faced servant stammered out apologies under the raised eyebrows of almost every guest, Lavinia beckoned to Prickleberry with a finger, mouthing, "Come on, quick!" The seedling wriggled out of the stems and dropped to the table, racing across the white linen cloth towards her, leaving a tiny line of wet footprints from the flower water. Lavinia leaned forward, napkin in hand, and scooped Prickleberry up in it, whispering sternly, "Bad boy!" before returning the napkin to her lap. _Whew_... but now what? She couldn't let the poor thing wander around the manor on his own; no telling what other trouble he'd find to get into! He'd just have to stay hidden until she could think of an excuse to leave the table early.

Lord Granville hadn't dared to look before, but now cast a quick glance at his daughter, relieved to see that the seedling was safely off the table... but where was it now? Judging from Lavinia's cherubic expression, it was probably best not to inquire...

The mess was quickly cleared up, being only silverware, Sally glad to see that both the adult Granvilles were suitably gracious over the incident, and the next course was brought in: a choice of clear or oxtail soup, and bread rolls. Sally was about to cut her roll with her butter knife, when Sir Vincent on her left discreetly cleared his throat, showing her by silent example that the bread should be broken by hand and the individual pieces buttered. Sally copied him with a grateful smile – thank God for true gentlemen.

During the soup course, Watson noted that Lavinia accidentally dropped a few crumbs from her roll onto her napkin, to which Prickleberry stealthily helped himself. Good heavens, the little creature _was_ cute. The baby tree, however, had probably not yet eaten anything solid in his one day of life outside an egg, and promptly began to hiccup. The noise wasn't very loud, but clearly audible to the rest of the table, particularly if the wide eyes of his wife and friends were anything to go by. Watson was hard pressed not to laugh, especially since the tiny sounds were adorable, but he gathered himself and offered to escort Lavinia out to deal with 'her' hiccups. In the safety of the library, he had a good if quiet laugh with the little girl, who then introduced him properly to Prickleberry. The young tree squeaked uncertainly at his protector, who assured him that the bigger human was also safe, and Watson's obvious delight finished the job of winning the little one over.

* * *

Sally had never understood before why the ladies always left the table half an hour before the gentlemen at dinner parties... but all those drinks during the meal, combined with a corset, served to make the need for a discreet withdrawal painfully obvious by the time she and the other women returned to the parlour. Fortunately, she was able to snag Beth by the elbow to go with her to the water closet, and when she came back out, John was waiting there as well with Lavinia.

"Would you like to take a turn about the gardens, Mrs. Watson?" the little girl asked innocently. "Dr. Watson expressed an interest in seeing the hothouses."

Sally beamed, squeeing inwardly – they really were going to meet the trees! "Thank you, Miss Granville, that would be delightful."

* * *

 **Ria:** Funny thing is, we didn't realise the significance of the date for the dinner party until we came to plan it, and were looking around for something newsworthy to announce. Yes, George the Sixth was born on the anniversary of Prince Albert's death, December 14th, and his parents wisely named him in honour of his great-grandfather to placate the queen. Not that I blame poor Victoria for feeling resentful over it; she must have already been feeling miserable with missing her husband – and at Christmastime, too!

 **Sky:** And yes, I couldn't resist throwing in a reference to _The King's Speech_ , which is one of my favorite movies!


	8. Presents For Christmas

**==Chapter 8==**

 **Presents For Christmas**

 _I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons._

– Christopher Poindexter

Late into the next morning, the two couples were relaxing in their bedrooms after the long night. Lying with her husband in bed, awake but too comfortable to get up, Beth decided that now was as good a time as any to tackle one subject she'd been burning to know more about. She'd thought it over so much she even had a tack to ease her way into it, if she didn't mess it up.

"Sherlock?" she said, wincing as her voice broke the cozy silence. "Um, I can't help noticing... well... you and John don't, ah, smoke anymore." Her stammering worsened as she continued—so much for easing her way in! "If, um, you don't mind my asking, how... I mean, why..." She stopped, blushing furiously.

Holmes propped himself up on his elbow, smiling ruefully. "It's something of a long story... but you're quite right, both of us have been doing our best to quit smoking – though Watson has found it easier than I, I fear." _And whose fault is that, pray?_

She chewed on her lip for a moment before continuing. "So... um, how'd it start? Stopping, I mean?"

"Well, the process really started once we left Baker Street, I suppose. Ordinarily, I wouldn't smoke unless I was bored, or on a case, and there was a decided lack of both while we were travelling!" The usual sort of case, anyhow.

She tilted her head, frowning. "I..." She grimaced, then sighed. She was never going to correct what she _thought_ she knew from the stories if she didn't _ask_. "I'd gotten the impression that you'd smoked more often than that."

Holmes sighed. "Watson's poetic license..." then grinned affectionately. "Besides, the TARDIS wouldn't allow it. I did find a stray cigarette in my coat pocket once, not long after we left, but she wouldn't let me light it!" And by the time he'd remembered it again, the next time he and the others were planetside, it had mysteriously vanished.

Smiling slightly, she wasn't sure what to say and opted for a safe hum. She tilted her head again as a question occurred to her: "You said that John was doing better than you, though?"

"Yes... I suspect largely because of his studies in the TARDIS medbay." He hadn't yet found the courage to follow the doctor's example – Watson's expression when Holmes had next seen him...

She shook her head. "But I mean, the TARDIS wouldn't let you smoke, and you haven't since... we've been... together..." Except that there _was_ a time between those two periods, a long stretch of time...

He blushed, no longer quite meeting her gaze. "Well... I must confess I did have... something of a relapse, before you came back for me..." _Smoked like a chimney, I think you mean!_

She gave him a sympathetic look, taking his hand and squeezing it. "Oh, honey..."

He squeezed back gratefully. "If illness had been a concern in Frozen Time, Moriarty might not have permitted it... but since it was not..."

She nodded slowly, stroking his fingers with hers to soften her next question. "How are you doing now?"

Holmes grimaced, sighing. "Well enough, I suppose. I think being forced to go without while traveling Europe helped." Smiling in apology, "Although I'm sure you suffered as much as I did through that withdrawal!" _I'm sorry._

She laughed—his crankiness on the trip took on a whole new meaning now. "So _that's_ what was going on."

"Well, partly, anyhow." He raised her hand and kissed it. "If given the choice between tobacco and a hot bath, I think I would have had to consider very carefully!"

She winced—poor darling. "Awww." She fell silent then—she thought she could ease into the topic of cocaine but now she wasn't sure. She mostly wished she didn't have to... _but you have to know. You need to know_.

"What is it, love?" Beth definitely still had something on her mind.

She sighed. "I just... I've just been wondering... about, um..." She almost blushed harder than before— _why can't I make myself say it? ...maybe because it's usage that's a little less acceptable than smoking? Yeah_...

 _Ah._ "I gather you're thinking of that other old habit of mine?"

She nodded silently, cheeks still flaming.

Holmes brushed Beth's cheek gently with his fingertips. "It's all right, Beth – you have the most right out of anyone to be concerned about that. But the truth is, love..." He met her troubled gaze steadily. "I haven't used since leaving in the TARDIS, nor do I have any intention of doing so in future."

Her eyes widened slightly—she had thought _maybe_ , because in all the time she'd known him she'd never seen a hint of usage—and now that she thought about it, she had never seen any puncture marks that could be identified as such, but still... "Why?"

Holmes drew a deep breath. "After the Globe Theater, the Doctor took us on our first trip into the future..."

* * *

"...and after seeing just how much tragedy those cursed patches had wrought... I vowed never to touch another syringe." Holmes shivered, he could still clearly remember the terror he'd felt when Watson was abducted.

Beth hugged him comfortingly, shivering herself. "I'll bet," she murmured.

He hugged her back tightly. "I meant to dispose of the case as soon as I returned... but when the time came, I had other things on my mind."

She nodded in understanding. "Are you gonna be okay? Without it, I mean? I mean, I know when you used..." It had been to ward off boredom... and more importantly, depression.

Holmes nodded, smile solemn but tender. "If you're prepared to put up with me when I fall into the dumps?" He sighed deeply. "I wish I could promise you that that won't happen..." But he wasn't about to make her empty promises.

She rubbed his back soothingly. "I know. I'll do my best... What's it like?" Nothing could truly prepare her for when it finally happened, but she wanted to be as prepared as she could be.

Dear God, how to put something like _that_ into words... "I suppose... much like the Baskerville case... when I got stuck in the mire... except it's... it's in my head..." His voice had become a whisper, cheeks growing warm; "and I'm all alone and sinking and I can't get out... or even call for help..."

Blinking back sudden tears, Beth tightened her hold. "I'm sorry," she whispered back. "I didn't mean..." She bit her lip, then cleared her throat. "Sherlock, I don't know what I can do to fight that..." Although getting him to a therapist for a proper diagnosis and prescription meds sounded more and more like an option she wanted to pursue in the future. "But I _can_ be here for you."

Holmes nodded shakily, murmuring back, "I know." He snuggled closer, shutting his eyes. "...Would you sing to me? Your voice, it... it helps..." More than he could ever tell her.

She blushed again. "O-okay... yes, of course." She nuzzled him gently and began to stroke his hair. "And snuggle you... and cuddle you... and spoil you." She smiled faintly.

He opened his eyes again, smiling back ruefully. "I'm sorry, love... I never wanted you to... to have to deal with all that." _In sickness_ and _in health, remember? Would you begrudge Beth any comfort she needed from you?_

She sighed again. "To be brutally honest, sweetheart, I don't want to... but even more..." She nuzzled him again. "I don't want _you_ to have to deal with it alone." _I'll be there for you, I promise_. She kissed him softly.

He kissed her back tenderly, holding her close. "I love you."

* * *

There were fresh ink stains on Mrs. Hudson's fingers at lunchtime. Deducing correctly that the landlady had been writing Christmas cards, Holmes offered to save her a trip to the post office that afternoon, as he and Beth had business of their own next door at the stationer's.

"So, that's Watson's new fountain pen..." Holmes held the door open for Beth as they left the shop, fishing the list from his pocket. "Now we just need something for Kathy."

Beth hummed, trying to think of what Kathy might like and what Sally might want for her. Wish lists might be a good idea for the future. "A picture book. Won't be long before she's old enough to appreciate it."

"Good idea. There's a bookshop just over on Lord Street, they may have something suitable."

She smiled, excited to visit a proper _bookstore_. "Fantastic."

Sherlock offered her his arm again and led her in the right direction. On the next corner, a man was pasting up playbills for a pantomime at a local theatre, _Aladdin and the Lamp_. Beth smirked as they passed. "I don't think I could ever see another version of _Aladdin_ —the Disney movie may be very far from the original, but it's still the one I grew up with." Robin Williams was a tough act to follow... _or_ precede.

Holmes nodded. "I've no taste for pantomime at all, myself."

"Mm..." She'd never seen a pantomime before herself, so she couldn't comment. "What about theater in general, though?"

"Some of it's all right – although I've sworn never to let Watson take me to another Gilbert and Sullivan musical!" He shuddered theatrically at the memory.

Beth giggled. "Aw, how come?"

"Too melodramatic by half, and as for the lyrics... I confess I much prefer the actual opera."

Smiling, she shook her head. "I should try putting you through some of _my_ favorite musicals—movies, of course. _Sound of Music_... _Fiddler on the Roof_... _My Fair Lady_..."

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "'Fiddler on the Roof'? That sounds rather hazardous."

Beth laughed. "That one you should definitely watch. It's about a Russian Jewish family... right around this point in history actually. First half is really funny; second half is sad." She scrunched up her face, trying not to think about the pogroms that were actually happening this century—there wasn't anything she could do about them. "Seems musicals like to do that— _The Sound of Music_ and _My Fair Lady_ don't exactly have the happiest, well, third acts, I guess."

"Well, neither do most operas, come to that. Watson always says that I must really love the music to overlook such maudlin plots." Holmes laughed. "He's right."

"Aww. Yup, definitely gonna make a list of films to watch, then, when we get the chance, aaaand... aw, zed, might as well put the musicals at the head of the queue." _Forgetting something, are we?_ "Oh..." _Right, maybe don't repeat the Wyndham mistake_. "On second thought, maybe not _My Fair Lady_..." At his inquiring look, she looked away, thinking quickly. "Might be, ah, too... chick-flick."

Holmes's brow furrowed, lips twitching. 'Chick-flick'?

She cleared her throat. "Feminine, I mean." _Oh geez, well done_ —she'd never lied to him before; why was she starting now?

"Ah, of course – the Doctor called the first movie we saw a 'flick', he said it was because of the flickering images."

"Really? I didn't know that."

Come to think of it, he hadn't ever told Beth about that incident, had he? _Well, it was a bit of a pre-climax to what happened afterwards..._ "Since he's quite the film enthusiast, he insisted that we should all go to see the very first private film screening, shown by the Lumiѐre brothers. I suspect it was also meant as compensation for the whole fiasco with Nikola and his machine." And that was another thing, they still hadn't been to the photography studio yet for the group picture.

She nodded absently. "Mm." It was just a little white lie she'd told—why did it bother her so much?

"Anyhow – we arrived successfully in Paris, a few days after we left Niagara Falls. Picture, if you will, a stately Napoleonic building... an elegant ballroom filled from end to end with the cream of Parisian society... and the Doctor lounging in the very centre of the front row, dressed in white tie, tailcoat and converses, munching loudly on a bag of popcorn he must have made ahead of time and smuggled in. The only reason he wasn't asked to leave was because of the psychic paper; everyone thought he was the Belgian Minister of Fine Arts." Holmes chuckled. "I have rarely seen so many venomous glares directed at one person, it's a wonder he didn't spontaneously combust!"

She smiled only slightly and nodded again, guilty now also because she missed the beginning of his story.

"As his 'aides', Watson and I had seats directly behind him. We were inwardly cringing, of course, but we assumed he'd eventually run out of snacks. Unfortunately, he got bored long before then. Not surprising, I suppose – he played _Star Wars_ for us a few days later, and I can understand how the earlier show must have seemed a little disappointing in terms of quality."

"Mm-hmm." _Stop moping and pull yourself together!_

Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. "He started tossing the rest of his popcorn at the screen – and that was when Watson and I decided we'd had enough culture for one evening. We each took an elbow and propelled him towards the nearest exit before anyone could throw us out..." He grinned ruefully. "To the sound of thunderous applause." The poor Lumières, they must have been furious.

She gave a soft laugh, wishing she could just get her good mood back—why couldn't she?

"Beth? What's wrong?" It had finally dawned on Holmes that his wife wasn't looking half as cheerful as she was a few minutes ago.

She started guiltily. "What?"

"Love, I don't have to be a detective to know something's troubling you." She'd been humming for the last five minutes, she never did that unless preoccupied.

She winced. "It's nothing... it's just..." _Good job making it a bigger deal than it has to be_. "It's nothing..."

 _Oh, well done, now you've embarrassed her. She was probably just considering what to give you for Christmas!_ Except Beth wasn't wearing her usual innocent-while-quietly-scheming expression... An awkward silence reigned until the couple reached the bookshop.

It didn't take long to find a pretty picture book for Kathy, and by then Beth had decided to bite the bullet, tell the truth, and apologize. She kind of hated it when he knew something was wrong and didn't actually press the issue—it'd be easier to give in if he would!

Once they were back outside with their gift, she broke the silence, not meeting his gaze. " _My Fair Lady_... Jeremy Brett is in it. I'm sorry."

Holmes closed his eyes for a moment, more relieved than anything else – his imagination had been starting to work overtime. "I gather this was before he started playing... me?"

She blushed, still not looking up. "Twenty years before, yes."

He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Sweetheart, you could have just told me _." With you blathering on like that? Hardly!_

Well, now she felt like a heel. "I just... didn't want... I mean..." She groaned, mentally kicking herself for being so incoherent. "I don't know! It's not like we had the best time in 1989!"

"Well, no... but that was hardly your doing, was it?"

She looked up then, an _are-you-kidding-me?_ arch to her eyebrows. "Um, yeah? Kind of? If I hadn't asked to see that stupid play, none of that would have happened."

Holmes shook his head with a frown. "Beth, you can't think yourself responsible for Torchwood's actions, surely!" _And?_ "...And my attitude towards Jeremy didn't exactly help matters. I still don't understand how he kept from punching me in the face!"

She gave a brief laugh. "Because Jeremy was a sweetheart who wouldn't hurt a fly." For all that he had been very good at playing jerks and bad guys...

"Mm..." _Maybe that's part of why you didn't like him... and still don't?_

Beth frowned, remembering what John had said. "Sherlock... you're not... you weren't... _jealous_ of Jeremy, were you?"

Holmes felt his insides lurch – it was one thing to admit it to himself, but quite another to hear it said aloud! – then nodded awkwardly, cheeks growing warm.

Her eyes widened—despite what John had said, she hadn't thought it possible! "But... why?"

He stared down at his feet and mumbled, "I thought... I thought you liked him better than me..."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" _You really cared that much all the way back then?!_ "How... _why_... did you think that?" For gosh sakes, she only even knew Jeremy Brett existed _because_ of Sherlock Holmes! _Not to mention that, when you actually_ met _Jeremy, he was old enough to be your grandfather or just about? Yeah, there's also that._

"Well, you were fangirling rather hard... not that I blame you, mind!" Holmes sighed. "He was certainly being much more of a gentleman that night than I was." Even when three sheets to the wind...

She nodded slowly, trying to take it in. "He was— _is_ —very special to me for a lot of reasons, and not all of them have to do with his last big role. And, I have to admit, he was the biggest celebrity crush I ever had..." She was definitely _not_ going to elaborate on the others, not at this point in time! "But... he's not _you_." She squeezed his hand. "I have never loved him—yes, even on that night—as much I have loved _you_."

He squeezed back, smiling foolishly. "I know that now." _Took you long enough..._

She smiled back, then tilted her head, curious now. "Were you jealous of Johnstone, too, then? I mean... you said some things that still don't make a lot of sense to me..."

Holmes nodded, blush returning as he recalled some of the things he'd said. "It wasn't only that, though... I could tell that he liked you..." Hastily, "Please don't misunderstand, Beth, I'm sure he would have been good to you... but you wouldn't have been the first..." Charlotte clearly had not been... "or the last... and I just... I couldn't stand to see that happen... not to you." He'd known instinctively, even then, that Beth wouldn't have been truly happy if forced to share a lover with anyone else – like himself, she was the all-or-nothing type.

She hugged his arm, blushing herself. "But what I _still_ don't understand is... first you said that I'd turned down a career, then later that he'd all but proposed... And, um, I could swear that all he said was first 'goodbye,' then 'see you later.' Did I miss something?" _Because this has been bothering me for a long time and I can't figure it out!_

Holmes's brows shot up. "Well, I don't know if you noticed, but he had been flirting with you since Newhaven! As for the 'adieu/au revoir', I should say he was trying to determine whether you were inclined to encourage any further advances."

She stared at him, eyes wide, stammering wordlessly for a few seconds. _What..._ how _... why are men so difficult?!_

He smiled ruefully at her expression. "I gather I was worrying needlessly?"

She found her voice then. "Well, I thought _maybe_ he _liked_ me, yes, but I didn't... he... You men have no idea of how to communicate!"

Holmes laughed, squeezing her arm with his. "Yes, I remember you informing me." _Master of the mixed message..._

She groaned. "I never realised... And I told him 'maybe just _au_ _revoir_ ,' too. Oh well..." _How long is it going to be a sore point that I never got to experience a dating life like most people?_ She sighed and shrugged, surreptitiously watching Sherlock for his reaction: "...he _was_ kind of cute." Cuter than she would _ever_ tell her husband. "Zed, I missed my one chance to flirt."

 _Er, you_ do _realise she's teasing you, old boy?_ Holmes realised his mouth was open and shut it, giving Beth a half-hearted glower.

She tried to give him an angelic look which failed miserably —it was a struggle to keep from giggling!

His lips twitched in spite of himself, a silent chuckle taking over. "Wretch..." he murmured, shaking his head; "what am I going to do with you?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something!" she murmured back singsong, eyes dancing.

"Oh, indeed..." He could think of several _somethings_ off the top of his head...

She cleared her throat, refusing to let _that_ tone work on her this time. "Yes, well, unless you can manage to find us a _very_ private spot in the middle of commercial London, I suggest you save it for later."

Holmes tilted his head, as if considering his options, then grinned. "Oh, very well. Shall I hail us a cab? We seem to have finished shopping for the afternoon."

Beth nodded, starting to shiver now. "Mm-hmm." She leaned into him, tucking her chin into her scarf. "I'm ready to warm up at home."

* * *

 **Sky:** Okay, so that was pretty self-indulgent Sherbeth, but at least we're back in business again! =)


	9. Bless Us All

**==Chapter 9==**

 **Bless Us All**

" _I just love family meetings. Very cozy, with the Christmas garlands round the fireplace and a nice pot of tea and a detective from Scotland Yard ready to arrest you."_

― Rick Riordan, The Red Pyramid

Detective Inspector Geoffrey Lestrade was on a mission to 221B Baker Street which, for once, did not involve a mind-boggling crime. The only astonishing thing this afternoon was the large and well-decorated Christmas tree in the first floor window. He rang the bell, shaking his head—the Missuses Holmes and Watson had truly turned 221B upside down in the three weeks they'd been there.

"I'll get it!" Sally left off sweeping the downstairs hall and went to open the door, broom still in hand.

Lestrade's eyes widened briefly at being greeted by someone other than Mrs. Hudson, as well as the slightly-less-than-sterling state the new Mrs. Watson was in, but he smiled and touched the brim of his hat. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Watson."

"Oh, Inspector, hello!" Lestrade hadn't come near Baker Street since the Bruce-Partington case, Sally had only been properly introduced at the wedding reception. "Please, come in."

"Thank you," he nodded, and stepped inside, grateful to be out of the chill. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

Sally grinned, glancing down at her dusty apron. "Oh, nothing too important. Are you here to see Sher... Mr. Holmes?" A case would be a welcome change for everyone here, Sherlock's new-found Christmas spirit only reached so far when at a loose end.

"In a manner of speaking—"

Watson appeared on the landing above with the baby in his arms. "Lestrade, good to see you!" he smiled. "Come on up and warm yourself."

Lestrade smiled back and nodded up at him. "Thank you, Doctor, I will." He held up his load then for Watson to see. "And with compliments from Mrs. Lestrade."

"Oh, how kind of her!" Sally exclaimed, accepting the bag. "Do take off your coat, Inspector. Be right up, John, I just need a word with Mrs. Hudson."

Lestrade nodded to the young woman, removing his hat and coat and hanging them up, then climbed up the stairs to meet the doctor. "How's the little one?"

The baby beat her father to a reply, smiling and cooing at Lestrade and making little waves with her fists.

The Inspector smiled back, laughing in delight—it seemed he could count on a warm welcome from the youngest inhabitant of 221B! "Well, aren't you the smart one?" He looked up at Watson, his tone light: "She'll be crawling about in no time!"

Watson chuckled as he ushered Lestrade into the sitting room. "Oh Lord, don't give her ideas—she's enough of a handful already!" He didn't look forward to the time when they would have to 'baby-proof' (as the girls called it) the sitting room.

Lestrade also chuckled, understanding completely. "Nothing more frightening than a smart wee one. How are—" he cleared his throat, a bit self-consciously: the Baker Street marriages truly came out of nowhere and blindsided the entire CID!— "you doing yourself, Doctor?"

Watson smiled knowingly. He would dearly have loved to be a fly on the wall to witness the detectives' conversations about the two new families, particularly the Holmeses. "Never better, Lestrade. How have you been keeping?"

"Well enough. There've been more accidents than crimes to report lately, and I'm not sure which I'd rather have. You know how people are when they're inconvenienced."

Watson nodded in sympathy. "I heard about the cart pileup on Forsythe last week—that must have been a nightmare to sort out!"

"Oh, it was," Lestrade snorted. He would have continued, but Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Hudson entered the room just then, both balancing trays. "Ah, Mrs. Hudson."

"I wondered when we were going to see you again, Inspector," Mrs. Hudson smiled. "How's that family of yours?"

Lestrade took a seat at the table and gratefully accepted a cup of tea from the landlady. "Well enough, ma'am, thank you kindly. The children had a cold passing between them, but they're all doing better now." Thank goodness—all the children abed with sickness meant no rest for himself and his poor wife.

"Oh, glad to hear it."

Watson nodded in agreement, wishing he'd known earlier. But Lestrade preferred not to call on Watson except in emergencies—he'd learned long ago that Watson refused to accept payment from the Yarders.

"I didn't know you had a family, Inspector." Sally sat with John and Kathy at the table, and handed round Mrs. Lestrade's biscuits on a plate. "How old are they?" Kathy would have to interact with other children eventually.

"Oh, all ages, the five of them. The oldest is fourteen, the youngest almost two." Lestrade was going to be an old man by the time little Esther grew up, but he couldn't regret having her or any of the children, or marrying Annie, whom he had actually met on one of Sherlock Holmes's early cases.

Sally nodded, genuinely impressed – she had enough to deal with just looking after Kathy, but she remembered what it was like caring for the youngest Irregulars!

A moment later, there was the sound of a hansom cab drawing up outside, and Watson smiled. "Well, either that's a client..."

"Or Beth and Sherlock have perfect timing," Sally finished with a grin.

* * *

"Ah, we have a guest." Holmes had recognised Lestrade's coat and hat the moment they entered.

Beth tilted her head as she began to remove her own things. "You know who it is?"

"I certainly ought to, after all these years..."

Her eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in turn, inviting her to make the deduction. A hat and coat he'd known for years, not his or John's and much too small to be Mycroft's... "Then... I'm going to guess it's a certain Inspector."

Holmes blinked at the word 'guess', then shook his head with a faint sigh, casting his eyes up to the ceiling in mock despair.

Beth giggled at his reaction—she hadn't _meant_ to use a word he hated; it was just the first one to come to mind! Now, however... "I guess so, then."

He snorted and poked her in the ribs for the provocation, then fled up the stairs, laughing.

"Sherlock!" She ran up after him despite her skirts and corset. "You are terrible!"

He grinned at her over his shoulder, throwing open the sitting room door... and froze at the sight of the group seated at the table, three of them as wide-eyed as himself.

Sally had to make a heroic effort not to laugh at Sherlock and Lestrade's expressions! She could well imagine that the Inspector hearing his normally guarded colleague so playful would be on a par with interrupting one's parents in an intimate moment...

Holmes pulled himself together, silently cursing his reddening cheeks. "Lestrade, how nice to see you."

Lestrade had long since suspected that Sherlock Holmes was capable of behaving like a schoolboy around Watson, but to overhear that behaviour with the new _Mrs._ Holmes... who herself was still a shock... He cleared his throat, voice managing to squeak anyway: "...and you, Mr. Holmes."

Watson was hard-pressed not to laugh—he always knew that Holmes's playful side would embarrass him in front of someone other than their landlady someday. That it was with Beth was just the icing on the cake!

Beth appeared behind her husband, quickly surveying the room to take in the damage. She nudged Sherlock to let her in and stepped past him, smiling brightly at her great-grandfather, who stood at her entering. "Hello, Inspector—good to see you again!" She grabbed Sherlock's arm and steered him toward his chair.

Lestrade nodded respectfully, eyes still wide at how Holmes let the girl handle him without a fuss. Where _was_ this slip of a girl years ago when the Yard needed her to wrangle amateur detectives like this?" And you, ma'am."

"Cutting it fine, you two," Sally teased, pouring out for the new arrivals. "Did you have a good shopping trip?"

Seeing Sherlock into his chair, Beth perched on the arm of it, still smiling. "We did, indeed!" To Lestrade: "What brings you here, Inspector?"

Lestrade returned her smile, the girl's buoyancy reminding him of his own wife. _Not so shy then—just finding her feet_. "Exchanging compliments of the season, ma'am. My wife sent some of her Christmas baking with me."

Beth brightened further, excited to try some of her great-grandmother's treats. "Oh, how sweet!"

"Which reminds me, Inspector," Mrs. Hudson put in, passing over the biscuit plate, "you must take some of my Christmas cake home with you. I remember how much your family enjoyed it last year!"

Lestrade nodded, still smiling. "They did, indeed—thank you kindly." And it was nice for him as well, to receive a little kindness from someone who _didn't_ have a policeman in the family.

"It has to last the journey first, of course," Watson teased.

Lestrade chuckled. "Just as long as I don't drop in at the Yard on the way. Let my colleagues get one whiff of Mrs. Hudson's baking and I'm beating them off with a stick!" It had almost literally happened, too, Bradstreet naturally being the worst offender. Mrs. Hudson's skills in the kitchen were _legendary_ , and lucky was the officer of the law who could say that he had sampled Sarah Hudson's hospitality and good will!

After the ensuing laughter, he turned to the menfolk. "Speaking of the Yard, I hope we'll be seeing you again at New Year's Eve?"

"That's most kind of you, Lestrade," Holmes answered innocently; "the four of us will be looking forward to it."

Lestrade blinked, wondering if he'd heard right. "Ah, yes, of course... Begging your pardon, dear ladies—you're welcome to come as well if you like."

Beth grinned. "I would like that very much, Inspector." Getting to ring in the New Year with a crowd of the men of Scotland Yard sounded like a party worth attending!

"Absolutely, and thank you," Sally smiled. "Will Mrs. Lestrade be coming, too? We'd love to meet her." She knew Beth was dying to get to know the rest of her family here; besides, any woman brave enough to marry a policeman, regardless of century, had to be something special.

Lestrade stared, entirely at a loss for words this time. "Ah... ah, possibly... I... she might... be occupied... but she might not..."

Beth took pity on him. "Well, as much as I'd like to meet her, I can understand if she's busy. With five children? My mother has six—I know how it can be."

Lestrade nodded gratefully. "They're quite the handful."

Watson looked down at his daughter then, who was looking hopeful—Kathy absolutely understood _far_ too much for her own good. "Sorry, wee miss, but you'll be staying home." The baby frowned, sticking out her bottom lip, and he couldn't help smiling: she was adorable when she pouted. "Oh, don't you start," he murmured. "As if Mrs. Hudson doesn't spoil you rotten while we're away." She looked smug at that, and he nearly laughed out loud.

Holmes hastily nudged Watson's foot with his – Lestrade's eyebrows were starting to rise at the obvious communication going on between father and daughter. He lifted his teacup in a toast, smiling, and the others followed suit. "Your good health, ladies and gentlemen."

Lestrade smiled. "And yours, sir." Struck by a sudden impulse, he stood and raised his cup with all the solemn dignity of a priest holding a chalice. "May the blessings of another year rest upon this house, and all who dwell in it." He blinked and sat down again, suddenly uncertain of why he said all that, but unable, nevertheless, to shake the feeling that it was important. Well... who could say _what_ the new year would bring for these young families? An extra blessing never hurt anyone.

"Amen," Mrs. Hudson said softly, feeling her eyes growing moist. She beamed her approval at the Inspector; there would be much more than just cake in the parcel he was to take home!

* * *

It was only a few days until Christmas, and the two couples finally made it out onto the ice of the frozen lake in Regent's Park. Skating at Victorian Christmastime felt pretty literally like 'a picture print by Currier and Ives', and they were out in the Christmas card setting until they were thoroughly tired. _But it's definitely a good kind of tired_ , Beth thought as she entered the sitting room back home. Aloud: "We definitely have to do that agai—oh my gosh." There was a newcomer to the room's Christmas decor—mistletoe! "Looks like Mrs. Hudson did a little extra bit of decorating..."

Holmes entered behind her, and gave a laughing groan. "Oh, good heavens! We never thought to tell her..."

"Told her what—oh." Watson stopped short at the sight of the mistletoe. "Well... it's not so bad—or is it?" After all, it wasn't his and Sally's adventure with mistaken mistletoe! He could only make judgments on secondhand experience in this case.

Holmes approached cautiously until he was standing almost directly underneath. "Well, the berries seem to be normal size – I should imagine we're safe enough!" He turned to Beth, smiling. "What do you think, sweetheart: shall we leave it up?"

"I like it..." Beth smiled wistfully. "I've never actually _had_ mistletoe before."

Sally nudged her with an elbow, and Beth looked at her oddly—then she understood: Sherlock was standing almost right under the plant... "So, I've never gotten to do _this_ before..." She pulled him into a kiss, then broke it off after a few seconds, grinning. "And now that I have, I think it's pretty neat."

Surprised only for a moment, Holmes kissed her back warmly. "Mm, I believe I could get used to this particular custom..." and kissed her again.

Beth hummed happily, then tugged Sherlock gently away from the mistletoe to allow the Watsons their turn.

"Shall we try it out then, my dear?" Watson murmured to Sally, smiling.

Sally grinned, murmuring back as he drew her under the mistletoe. "Did you really think I'd say no?" _Not a chance!_

Beth grinned too, even as she blushed to watch—did Mrs. Hudson have _any_ idea what she was starting?


	10. All I Want For Christmas

**==Chapter 10==**

 **All I Want For Christmas**

" _The light of the Christmas star to you. The warmth of home and hearth to you. The cheer and goodwill of friends to you. The hope of a child-like heart to you. The joy of a thousand angels to you. The love of the Son and God's peace to you."  
_ ― Sherryl Woods, An O'Brien Family Christmas

The final few days before the 25th were a flurry of last-minute shopping and preparations. Mrs. Hudson had been knitting away like mad for weeks, and cooking up a storm with help from the girls, although Beth swore when it came time to prepare the goose that she'd never read 'The Blue Carbuncle' the same way again. John grinned sympathetically, but he and Sherlock still took care to absent themselves from the singeing and plucking, Sally noticed! Teaching their husbands new Christmas songs was much more fun, and when Beth convinced Sherlock to come carolling with his violin, Will's pockets were heavier by the end of the night than they'd ever been.

"What'll they spend it on?" Beth whispered to Sherlock as the jubilant band of boys trooped back to 221B for hot drinks.

"Their families, mostly," Holmes murmured back. Even a few extra pence could make all the difference to a poor household, especially at this time of year. He should have thought to do this long ago, why hadn't he? It was so much less awkward than outright charity.

At least there were no such constraints at the Christmas Eve party; the Irregulars stuffed themselves at dinner, and filled their pockets with treats to take home for younger siblings. Watson had allowed himself to be 'persuaded' by Sally into playing Father Christmas, and proceeded to have the boys in stitches by pretending to mistake the white-haired Mrs. Hudson for Mrs. Claus. The landlady good-naturedly went along with the joke, eventually allowing her 'husband' a chaste kiss on the cheek under the mistletoe. Sally elbowed Beth, who was mischievously humming 'I Saw Mummy Kissing Santa Claus' to Kathy, and went over to help John hand out presents – the gleam in her eye promised coal if the real Mrs. Claus didn't get what _she_ wanted later!

* * *

Breakfast on Christmas morning came late, which suited everyone just fine. But before leaving their bedroom, Sherlock had a surprise gift for Beth to open first: brassières, fancy ones that looked more like lingerie than the bras Beth was used to wearing. Sherlock blushingly explained that Mrs. Hudson had purchased them for him, and now Beth wouldn't have to suffer with a corset any longer. Wide-eyed, Beth nodded—the new undergarments would do nothing to thin her waistline, but they had more shape and substance to them than her old bras and they looked like they would still maintain the ladylike figure Beth wanted for being out in public.

After breakfast was cleared, it was finally time to gather at the tree. Kathy was the first to be given her presents, being the youngest and most impatient. The baby was currently all smiles, lying on a new sheepskin rug from her parents and cuddled up with a home-made rag doll from Mrs. Hudson, the picture book from the Holmeses put away in a safe place for the moment.

Watson turned to Sally, eyes twinkling, scarcely able to contain his excitement. "Well, I do believe it's your turn, my dear..." He took a flat, square parcel from under the tree and handed it to her. "From all of us."

Sally tore off the paper, frowning in curiosity at the black leather case that appeared, then opened it... "Oh my god." A Sunart 'Vidi' Folding Plate Camera, the latest model! "Oh my god! I..." She stared speechlessly at the other three, who were all grinning now like Cheshire Cats, then flung her arms around her husband. "Thank you!"

Watson hugged her back, chuckling at her delight—it was lovely to see her so happy. "There's a stand for it, too, but we couldn't fit that under the tree."

"I have been _dying_ for you to get this!" Beth burst out.

"Yeah, I'm surprised you were able to keep it a secret!"

Holmes laughed as Beth stuck her tongue out. "And I can already think of one picture that needs to be taken with that camera, Sally." The other three looked at him questioningly. "If you recall, love?" he said to Beth; "the one you showed me on your phone when we first met..." Neither of them had dreamed at the time that she might actually have been able to take that picture _with_ that very phone!

Beth nodded, automatically saying, "Of course," and then she stopped herself. "Wait, that hasn't been taken yet?" She'd never thought, in showing Sherlock that photo, that it might not have been taken yet!

Both men shook their heads, exchanging grins. "I think we would have noticed!" said Watson. Particularly since photographs of Holmes by himself were rarer than clear skies over London, let alone Holmes _with_ Watson!

Sally blinked. "Wow... Do you think I should use the photo as a reference for staging it or just set it up without looking?"

"I shouldn't think it would matter," Holmes shrugged. "As long as the photo exists, that ought to be enough."

Watson gave his wife an encouraging smile. "It'll be fine, love." She knew how to compose a good photo, and compared to some of the Time loops they'd handled, this one was relatively simple!

"Okay, then, shall I pencil you two in for... tomorrow afternoon?" Sally grinned, lifting the camera and inspecting it. "I'm going to need some time to figure out how this thing works."

Beth craned her neck over Sally's shoulder to look. "Hmm, what are the chances you can take a Victorian selfie with this thing...?" She _had_ heard of such things being done but she didn't know how.

Watson laughed. "You'd need a mirror behind it to see where it was pointing!"

Watson then received a new pair of kid gloves from Sally – she'd noticed his current ones were wearing thin. Beth gave Sherlock a new magnifying glass with an engraved rim, as his old one had a small chip in the lens. Sally gave Beth three books: a small King James Bible, knowing how important Beth's faith was to her; a collection of Lewis Carroll verses; and the last made Beth laugh in appreciation – an etiquette guide, Sally warning her she intended to borrow it.

"And this one, I think, is for you, Sherlock."

Holmes took the box from Sally with a smile, looking at it curiously. Unusually for him, he couldn't immediately tell what it was: the box was clearly a shoe box under the wrapping paper, but it was too light to actually contain shoes.

A generic-looking package and Beth had no idea what was in it. She grabbed Sherlock's arm in excitement, hoping for something good. "Come on, come on, open it!"

He fended her off, laughing; ripped the paper off and lifted the lid... then stared at the contents in disbelief – a deerstalker?!

Beth's eyes went round, internally screaming in delight.

Sally grinned wickedly. "Merry Christmas!"

Watson gave a snort of laughter—Holmes's expression was _priceless_. Watson had been more eager to give Sally her camera, but he had been looking forward to this particular gift with great anticipation, and his friend did not disappoint!

Holmes reddened, giving Watson a baleful look before recollecting himself and mumbling a few words of thanks. The wretched woman looked entirely unabashed!

"You can have Part Two _after_ you try it on."

Beth was no longer able to hold back a high-pitched squeal, hugging Sherlock tightly. "Yesyesyes, _pleeeeeease!_ " She absolutely needed this in her life!

Sally couldn't contain herself any longer, either, Beth's antics tipping her over the edge into a fit of giggles. Holmes sighed deeply, but he could see he'd get no peace until he gave in. _Not to mention you're curious about the second gift..._ "Oh, very well! As long as it's not an Inverness!"

Sally managed to get enough breath back to respond. "Promise."

Beth looked up. "Oo, actually, _I_ want an Inverness." They just looked _so_ cozy! "I'll put that on my birthday list."

Holmes looked dubiously at Beth as he lifted the deerstalker out of the box. "I gather you've never tried wearing one..." _Well, come on, get it over with!_ He put the hat on and, answering a sudden impulse, picked up the magnifying glass as well.

"Yay!" Sally clapped, John joining in.

"Oh, I love it!" Beth gushed, eyes sparkling.

Watson grinned. "Very dashing, Holmes!"

Holmes blushed deeper, whipping the deerstalker off again and tucking the glass into his jacket pocket.

Beth sighed and shook her head, taking the hat from him and looking it over. It was a nice grey, not one of those checkered or plaid monstrosities that some actors playing her husband had been forced to wear. "I don't care what you say—it's a good look and you can totally rock it." She already knew from many, many adaptations and parodies that not many men could actually pull off this look!

"Absolutely." Sally made a concerted effort at a straight face. "Definitely looked distinguished." And she handed Sherlock a second, smaller box.

"Definitely," Beth agreed, still grinning but also perfectly sincere.

Holmes shook his head, starting to chuckle himself as he unwrapped the next gift. "Mr. Sidney Paget has a lot to answer for..." His voice trailed off on opening it, eyes wide, lifting out a dark blue knitted scarf with fringed ends. Good heavens...

"Do you like it?" Sally asked, noticeably anxious this time.

The detective nodded, genuinely touched. "Very much." Mrs. Hudson had clearly been teaching Sally to knit, he'd noticed scraps of wool clinging to her sleeves from time to time, but he'd assumed she must be knitting for Kathy. He wound the scarf around his neck experimentally. It was beautifully soft, she'd used a very fine wool. "Thank you, Sally, it's wonderful."

The last package turned out to be for Watson, from the Holmeses. Unwrapping the gift, he exclaimed in satisfaction upon finding a new fountain pen inside, and beamed up at Beth and Holmes. "Thank you very much." Particularly kind of Holmes to encourage his 'dreadful writing habit'!

"We thought it just might come in useful," Holmes said innocently. He might not be _entirely_ resigned to his literary counterpart achieving immortality, but given what he now knew, it did seem rather pointless to resist.

Watson laughed. "Oh, I'm sure it will!" He smiled mysteriously. "Which reminds me..." He crossed over to his writing desk and took a sheaf of foolscap out of a drawer.

Beth perked up. "Yes? What?" She looked at Sally for any hint of what John was up to.

Sally shook her head. "Won't tell me."

John came back to his seat, holding the bundle in front of him so that everyone could see the bold title at the top of the front page: 'The Adventure of the Christmas Tree Fairies'.

The girls' faces lit up. "So _that's_ what you've been up to!" "Oh my gosh, really?!"

Watson shrugged modestly. "It's only the first draft, but, I thought, since it's Christmas..." He looked questioningly at the group, particularly at Holmes.

Holmes nodded, smiling – he did want to hear this, too.

Beth clapped her hands in anticipation. A brand-new John Watson-written story!

"The audience is willing," Sally beamed, scooping Kathy up from her rug. _Story-time, sweetie!_

Watson couldn't help grinning—he rarely got the chance to read a new story aloud. "All right, then!" He settled himself comfortably in his armchair, cleared his throat, and began:

"Given the nature of Sherlock Holmes's work, he and those closest to him have frequently become embroiled in affairs of a delicate sort. It is, therefore, a rare honour when we find ourselves privy to family secrets of a more elevated nature than the usual scandals which can plague even the most respectable of houses.

"It was mid-December of 1895, the fogs of November quickly giving way to heavy snows, when Lord Granville of Hertfordshire brought to Baker Street a case that I should not hesitate to call the most fantastic of Holmes's career to date…"

* * *

Later, the five trooped down to the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson was delighted to see how much Kathy liked her doll, then burst out laughing when given her new stepladder, along with a tin of her favourite tea. She then gave the four adults their presents, of the knitted practical kind, and shooed them back out of the kitchen so she could get on with Christmas lunch. The Watsons soon returned to help, however, as Holmes had requested that he and Beth have the sitting room to themselves for a while...

The two of them sat on the settee for a few minutes, arms around each other. Beth was enjoying the snuggling, although she was pretty sure that something was up: neither couple almost ever had the sitting room to themselves if the other wasn't out. Still, she grinned at a sudden thought and murmured, "I can't believe you got me Victorian bras—and they're so pretty." Wearing them was going to feel like the height of luxury.

He kissed her cheek. "I hated seeing you wince every time you stood up in that corset."

She hummed happily, perfectly content, and kissed him back. "You're so sweet."

Holmes took a deep, quiet breath. _Now or never..._ "Speaking of gifts, _cherie_... I have one more to give you."

She looked at him curiously. "Must be big if you wanted the sitting room cleared out." And after he had already given her a private gift earlier!

He had to chuckle at that. "Well, in a manner of speaking…" Rising, he went to the desk and unlocked a drawer; took out the morocco case, smiling solemnly as he came back to her.

She frowned, not understanding at first... and then realisation crashed over her like a tidal wave. _The morocco case for the cocaine_. "...Sherlock?"

Holmes sat back down beside her, looking distastefully at the closed case in his hands. "I probably should have disposed of it long before… but in the light of what we discussed earlier, I could think of no better time than this." Looking up at her earnestly, "My gift to you, Beth: a solemn promise." He held out the case, inclining his head wordlessly at the fire.

Her eyes widened, blurring a little. She took the case slowly, feeling very small and very humble—for the first time in quite a while, feeling that she had become a part of something much, much bigger than herself... She opened her mouth and closed it, not sure what to say, after a few seconds managing, "You... you want me to..."

Holmes nodded, standing again and holding out his hand to her. There was no one he would trust more with this; and more than anything, he wanted Beth to have peace of mind in their new life together, knowing that the old temptation was no longer within easy reach, no matter how difficult the journey might be.

She took his hand and rose, moving slowly to the grate. Hesitating, she thumbed open the case to see its contents; the needle looked so small and delicate, but it had been so subtly important to the stories she was raised on, to her husband's past and the myth of who he was. _And the reality is better_. She closed it, took a deep breath, and lightly pitched the case into the fire. Not looking away from it, she squeezed Sherlock's hand gently.

Holmes squeezed back, leaning his head against hers, watching the flames consume the black leather covering without the slightest twinge of regret. This moment had truly been worth waiting for.

"Thank you, love..." She lifted his hand, kissed it, and pressed it to her cheek, grateful and content.

He turned to her, cupping her cheek with a misty smile. "I love you, Elizabeth Holmes." How he loved being able to call her that: not as a possession, like so many men thought of their wives, but as his partner in life, his equal.

She leaned into his touch, her vision blurry. _Elizabeth Holmes_ still sounded like a name that she didn't quite fit yet but that she could grow into... And with him looking at her like that... She opened her mouth, but the sudden lump in her throat kept her from speaking, so she mouthed, "I love you, too."

He caressed her cheek, leaned in and kissed her, slowly and deeply, wrapping his arms around her. She kissed him back, winding her arms around his neck. Behind them came a faint tinkle of breaking glass as the syringe and bottle broke apart in the heat of the flames, and a hiss of cocaine solution dripping onto the embers below, but neither Holmes was paying the least attention.

* * *

When Watson saw Holmes next, the detective thanked him for giving him and Beth the space... and then told him why they'd needed it. _After all these years..._ Watson responded by giving Holmes a bear hug George Westinghouse would have been proud of. "My _dear_ fellow..." He didn't finish—he didn't need to: this was the best Christmas present ever, and Holmes knew that.

Mycroft arrived at lunchtime, bearing gifts for everyone, including a large hamper for Mrs. Hudson. Sally and Beth dragged the men back down to the kitchen to help with the lunch dishes afterwards, and the rest of the afternoon was spent in pleasant conversation and playing parlour games.

Sally noticed early on with amusement that Kathy was staring fixedly at the new arrival. "Aw, you wanna come see Uncle Mycroft, honey?" The baby had been fascinated by 'big Papa friend' since the wedding!

As Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, he saw Sherlock arching a teasing eyebrow from across the room. That settled it – Mycroft wasn't about to be outdone by his little brother in this, thank you! The other adults hid grins at the sight: Mycroft holding the baby, talking to her quietly and seriously, as if she were an adult herself, and Kathy gazing raptly up at her new 'uncle' in adoration – it was hard to tell who was more deeply under whose spell!

* * *

By unspoken agreement, the Companions remained in the sitting room after supper and after Mycroft had left for the evening: they intended to stay up until midnight in case the Doctor actually did show up. Kathy fell asleep early on, and Sally put her in her basket bed and tented a shawl over it; everyone else sat around the fire. Holmes and Watson showed the girls how to mull wine in the embers, and Beth took some of the popcorn strings off the tree, enjoying them with her wine (something her half-brother had introduced her to the Christmas before, when their parents weren't around) and trying to persuade the others to try it.

It was around eleven o'clock that they all startled to hear the sounds they'd been waiting for: the wheezing and groaning of the TARDIS.

Electrified, Beth jumped to her feet and wordlessly tore downstairs and to the back door, throwing it open.

The TARDIS sat calmly on the cobblestones of the alley where it had before, and the door was open... but an unfamiliar man was poking his head out, looking around. He had an odd-looking face, from what she could see, with big eyes and no eyebrows to speak of and a chin that you could definitely speak of, but there was something about him... And then he caught sight of her and gave a delighted cry, the recognition clear in his eyes. "There you are!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh my gosh, we've made it to Christmas Day! A little early, sure, but better than late! Even though this chapter was a little difficult to write, I still really love it. There's just so much sweetness, and hopefully we haven't rotted out anybody's teeth, but come on, they deserve this!

Oh yes, and that wasn't who you were expecting, was it? :D


	11. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

**==Chapter 11==**

 **It Came Upon A Midnight Clear**

" _Christmas is not about the lights, not about the presents, not about the food, but about being there for others, being a friend, loving someone whether they are family or not. Christmas is a time of peace, of acceptance, and of making every world a better place."  
_ ― S.E. Smith, A Dragonlings' Magical Christmas

The strange, young-looking man bounded out of the TARDIS and towards Beth, who was still hanging in the back door of 221B. "Merry Christmas!" he beamed. "It _is_ still Christmas, right? We were hoping we got the date right."

And suddenly Beth realised why the man felt familiar even though she'd never seen him before. "...Doctor?"

He grinned and nodded, but the Doctor—the Doctor _she_ knew—beat him to a response, stepping out of the TARDIS and striding over more sedately. "For goodness' sake, you couldn't have let me come out first and explain."

"Oi, she's clever—" the new Doctor almost sounded _put out_ on Beth's behalf!—"she can work it out!"

"You're another regeneration?" Beth asked weakly, just to confirm.

The new Doctor's smile broadened. "Next one up!"

Appearing at the back door a moment later, it was Holmes's turn to stare at the sight of the newcomer, wondering briefly if this was another companion... then he got a good look at the 'young' man's eyes: much the same as Ten's, but even older and sadder... _Oh._

"Sherlock, hey!" Radiating delight, the Eleventh Doctor grabbed the Holmeses up in a hug. "Merry Christmas! Look at the two of you! I haven't seen you this young in ages!"

"Oi, now you're gonna scare 'em!" Being more responsible than his _older_ self was not a situation Ten had ever thought he'd have to face.

"Am not!" But Eleven released the couple, and Beth turned to Ten.

"Doctor," she murmured. Not knowing what else to say, she hugged him, and he returned the hug.

"Hey, Merry Christmas," he said softly, drinking in the warmth and the solidness of her in this moment. She _was_ still young, younger than even _he_ had seen her in quite a while, and it was... nice... to see her again like this.

She all but buried her face in his shoulder, even happier than she'd thought she'd be just to see him again. "Merry Christmas."

Holmes smiled bravely, but with a large lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes from the next Doctor's face. It was one thing to know about the Time Lord's regeneration, even to meet a past one... but it hadn't properly sunk in before now that, sooner or later, the Doctor he and Watson had travelled with all those months _was_ going to die and be replaced by someone almost entirely new. He didn't want him to go...

Eleven caught Holmes staring and made to step forward to meet him properly... then, on an instinct, he stepped back, allowing Ten, who had just let go of Beth, to move in. Sherlock would adjust in his own time and not before he was ready...

Ten hugged Sherlock Holmes tightly, again taking the time to savor the moment. "Hey."

Holmes returned the hug gratefully, the knot in his chest easing a little. "It's good to see you again, Doctor."

"And it's always good to see you." Ten pulled back and winked, belying the knots in his own chest—how was it possible to feel possessive of friends when it was you versus yourself?

In the meantime, Eleven had been studying Beth, young and unfinished, not quite grown yet into the woman he knew and loved. "It's been a long time since I've seen you this young," he said softly.

Beth blushed, then frowned. "Really? How old are you now?"

"Oh... couple of centuries older."

Beth raised both eyebrows. "Wow." She smiled. "I gotta say, you look good for your age." Almost as young as _she_ was, in fact, and strangely, the look suited him.

He grinned, flattered.

"Well," Holmes ventured, folding his arms against the cold, "unless we're due for a global crisis in the next few minutes, shall we go inside?" Which was always a possibility when the TARDIS showed up! But somehow Holmes didn't get that impression this time – the Doctor was simply home for Christmas.

Beth shivered, suddenly reminded that she was cold. "Yeah, sounds good." She turned to their guests and gestured. "Come on in!"

* * *

Watson and Sally were as astonished as the Holmeses at the new arrival, although they soon recovered; and of course Kathy wasn't fazed at all, squealing in delight on finding that one of her favourite people had somehow turned himself into _two_!

Both Doctors lit up when they saw Kathy. For Ten, it had been at least a couple of years since he'd seen her _this_ young, and for Eleven, of course, it had been centuries. The elder Doctor was the first to hold Kathy, cradling her expertly. "Hey, girl," he murmured, "it's been a while. How are you? Yeah, I know. Well, you take care of them for me, yeah?"

Ten watched over Eleven's shoulder. "I'd forgotten how tiny she was."

"I know." To Kathy, Eleven continued: "We got used to you being a big girl, all grown-up and kicking... kicking bad guys and taking names and stuff."

Kathy gave Eleven her most melting, innocent smile. She was enjoying being the pampered princess just now, and in no hurry to give it up!

Eleven grinned back—not fooled in the slightest but she was absolutely _adorable_ right now!—then looked up at her parents. "You look after this girl—all the _trouble_ she will get everyone into!"

Ten snickered, having already had a good taste of what was to come, not even counting the Manhattan Project!

Watson and Sally exchanged wry smiles with each other, nodding.

Ten turned to Sherlock. "Any new cases lately? Anything good?"

Holmes laughed. "You'll want to sit down for this one, Doctor!"

Ten's eyes lit up—that sounded promising! "Oh, really? What happened?" He pulled out one of the table chairs and turned it around so that he was sitting on it backwards.

Eleven chuckled and looked down at the baby. "Looks like it's story time, Kath."

The Companions settled in, Holmes and Beth taking turns to explain about the case, then Watson related his part of the story with Lavinia and her seedling friend, Prickleberry.

"Too bad you couldn't tell any of us at the time!" Sally sighed. To the Doctors, "John and I got to visit the greenhouse after the party, but the babies were all asleep by then." She wouldn't have dreamt of waking a sleeping infant now, no matter what species it was!

"I'm pretty sure we can go back and visit, though," Beth assured her.

Ten was grinning in delight, and Eleven was smiling enigmatically (of course, Ten had yet to meet the seedlings and Eleven remembered doing just that). "Aw, that's brilliant," said Ten. "I'd love to meet the mother; it's been a long time since I've seen any of her kind."

Watson went wide-eyed. "When was that?"

"Oh, a couple of regenerations ago, at least."

Eleven leaned in towards Ten, voice quiet but excited. "You're gonna love the babies—they're _adorable_."

"Oi! No spoilers!"

Eleven giggled, triggering a giggle from Beth, who was starting to be quite taken with the new Doctor. This version seemed like one she could maybe get to know better, maybe come to properly be friends with if he'd let her...

Watson noticed with concern that Holmes had gone rather quiet, and cleared his throat. "Well, it is getting on towards midnight, Doctors. We'd best be giving you your present while it's still Christmas!"

Eleven lit up. "Oo, presents, yes! Presents are good!"

"What is it?"

"You're not supposed to ask!"

Beth grinned. "You're gonna love it."

Watson went to his desk and retrieved the wrapped copy of his manuscript. He looked between the two Doctors, considering, then handed it to Ten with a smile, and Eleven nodded his approval.

Ten beamed and tore away the wrapping paper, eyes widening. "Oh! Is this the case? The manuscript?" He looked up, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Well, it was that or a new tie!" Sally chuckled. A Time Lord with a TARDIS made choosing gifts for anyone else seem easy by comparison.

"As long as it isn't a bowtie," Ten said dryly.

"Oi!" Eleven protested. "Bowties are cool!"

Ten looked down at the manuscript, then up at Watson, hearts full to bursting. "Thank you, John."

"My pleasure," Watson murmured. They had decided that the Doctor was the best person to safeguard a copy of the case for future publication, as well as the person who would get the most joy out of having his own copy.

Ten stood and hugged him. Eleven also rose, handing Kathy over to her mother, and turned to Beth. "So, since we're doing presents..." Ten let go of Watson and turned around. "We think it's high time to give you yours."

Ten came to stand beside his future self. "So, Beth," he said solemnly, "this is for you, in payment of old debts—"

"And in trust of good times to come," Eleven finished softly. _All of Time and Space, just watch us run_... He put a small box in her hands, wrapped and done up in ribbon.

As awed as she felt just now, Beth couldn't help smiling at the wrapping. She pulled it off and opened the box, taking out something that, appropriately enough, looked like a souped-up wristwatch. Her next words came out almost too hoarsely to be intelligible. "How does it work?"

Eleven opened his mouth, but Ten beat him to it. "You input space-time coordinates, which you can extrapolate from its navigational databank. We're going to have to do a couple of test runs—one of us will be with you and the other will be in the TARDIS just in case something goes wrong. It's really not difficult to use, though."

"Oh no, not at all," Eleven agreed. "Cheap and nasty time travel, usually, but we've done what we could to make the ride a little smoother. And the best part is that whoever's holding on to you when you use it will go with you, and whoever's holding on to _them_ will go, too. So...!" He grinned excitedly around at everyone else.

Beth looked at them for a moment, then jumped up and threw her arms around Eleven, the closest. "Thank you," she whispered, hugging him tightly and trying not to cry.

Eleven hugged her just as tightly back, and it felt... right. As if they were always meant to do this. She couldn't wait to see what the future held for her and the Doctor. "You are very, very welcome," he whispered in return.

Beth let go of him and moved on to Ten, hugging him just as tightly. "Thank you."

"It was our pleasure," he murmured.

"Doctor," Holmes murmured to Eleven, "where did you get that?" Not that he wasn't glad for Beth's sake, but given the Doctor's way of doing things, what were the chances of the original owner turning up one day and demanding it back?

"Used to belong to an old friend, and ended up with UNIT. They don't really need it, and we just used it to save the world anyway." Eleven shrugged philosophically.

The detective arched a curious eyebrow, but he'd learned long ago it was better not to inquire. And Beth's face... his wife looked absolutely radiant, he knew how much she'd been missing her family in the future. "Thank you, Doctor."

Eleven smiled fondly as he watched Beth, who was showing the device to the Watsons now. "Like I said... it's been our pleasure."

* * *

 **Sky:** Okay, so, was Eleven showing up at the end of last chapter a surprise? Well, honestly, I'd been eager to write him for a while (Eleven has long since become one of my absolute _favorite_ Doctors), and it made sense for the Doctors to take Jack's Vortex Manipulator, after helping to save the world, to give to Beth, who needs it much more than UNIT does! So, yes, this is right in-between saving Gallifrey and saying goodbye in "The Day of the Doctor."

Anyway, stay tuned, because aside from an epilogue, we have one last installment for this season before we move on to the next! A final TARDISode for season 1, and the reappearance of a certain forest family...

Last but not least, Merry Christmas to all, and to all, Happy Holidays!


	12. What Will The New Year Bring?

**==Epilogue==**

 **What Will The New Year Bring?**

" _My soul will find yours."_  
― Jude Deveraux, A Knight in Shining Armor

 _Shh shh shh_ _ **chink**_ _._ Mrs. Hudson stopped sweeping with a frown and lifted the shovel for closer inspection. There was definitely something shiny in amongst the ashes. Shards of glass... and a long, thin piece of blackened metal... good God. The landlady's hand flew to her heart, tears spilling over. _Thank you, dear Father..._ Then Mrs. Hudson blew her nose, and got on with laying the new fire.

* * *

"C'mon, Sally, just take it already!" Beth tried her hardest not to bounce with impatience as Sally fussed over Sherlock and John, trying to get them in just the right pose. "You know it's gonna turn out okay, anyway!"

"I know, I know..." Sally finally turned back to her new camera, set up on its tripod. "You guys ready?" She laughed nervously – she hadn't taken a picture _this_ important since Wester Drumlins! "God, it feels so weird _not_ telling you to smile!"

The two men looked at each other for a moment, already having difficulty keeping from smiling with their wives present and being so delightful.

"Oi, you two," Beth grinned, "eyes front!"

Sherlock and John meekly did as they were told, facing forward and putting on neutral expressions.

"Here we go..." Biting her lip, Sally opened the shutter, counted down, closed the shutter again. "Okay, I _think_ that's done it!"

Beth squealed noiselessly. "I can't wait till you get it developed!"

* * *

That night, Beth flopped onto the bed, pulling out her phone and opening the photo on it. She shook her head. "I can't believe it... all this time I've had this, and I only just watched it being taken!"

Holmes sat beside her and peered over her shoulder at the image. "Is Sally going to develop it herself?"

"Not this first one. She still needs to get the right chemicals and set things up in the bathroom, so she'll take this one in to be done professionally."

He nodded thoughtfully. "And then what? Do you have any idea of how the Lestrades came to possess it?"

She made a sound of frustration. "None. I don't know how John's journals ended up in _my_ attic either—why aren't they with _his_ descendants? It's always _bugged_ me..." _Unless... unless they_ did _stay with his descendants..._ She pulled up her phone's browser and found a genealogy site, inputting her family data as far as she knew it.

He watched her working with a wry smile. "You know, this could probably be called cheating now."

She didn't look up, still typing. "I could not care less. I have had the Internet all my life, barring a few horrible months during which I could have used it the most, and I am not giving it up now..." She clicked "Generate" and waited for her results.

"No, I just meant... oh, never mind. I suppose if we're going to be time travelling regularly, knowing the family tree in detail could be rather useful."

Beth nodded happily, still waiting for the results to come through. "Oh, come on," she told her phone, "come _on_."

Holmes chuckled, putting his arm around her and kissing her cheek. "Patience, love."

She smiled at the kiss. "What is this 'patience' you speak of... Ah- _ha!_ " The page loaded with a family tree that required Beth to scroll down to go further back in time. Her eyes widened when she came across a very familiar surname, and she clicked on the name to open up that branch of the family.

Two generations down were John's and Sally's names.

She gasped. "Oh... my gosh..."

"Good heavens," Holmes murmured, a bemused smile slowly widening. A Watson-Lestrade wedding...

"I... I was right... wow... that's how..." She shook her head, trying to clear it—even after everything she'd experienced over the past few years, this was still a shock. "I thought... I thought maybe... why else would their things end up in my family...? But... wow..."

He chuckled delightedly. "So that makes Sally your... how many times great _grandmother_?"

Beth hadn't been paying attention to how many generations there were, and she couldn't offhand remember how many generations back Geoffrey Lestrade was. "I'm not sure..." She brightened. " _But_. That makes _your_ best friend your so-many-times great-grandfather-in- _law_."

Holmes gave a bark of laughter, he hadn't thought of that! "So I could have asked _his_ permission to marry you!"

She smiled cheekily. "But you didn't."

He kissed her again. "Well, I hope he'll forgive me in time." It was probably just as well...

Beth kissed him back, giggling. "Just think of the shock he and Sally will get!"

"... _Should_ we tell them, do you think?" Of all the Time Loops they'd ever encountered, this had to be one of the most mind-boggling!

"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't think I could keep a secret like that! I don't want to."

He shook his head, grinning. "Nor me. Shall we?"

"Absolutely!" She jumped off the bed and bolted upstairs—once Sally and John got over the shock, they were going to _love_ this!

Holmes paused in the doorway for a moment before following, smiling at the bare bedroom wall which had used to hold his Rogues' Gallery. Beth had insisted on having his and Watson's photo in pride of place once it was printed... With any luck, there would soon be more family portraits hanging there, too.

 **To Be Continued...**

 **In Season Two, Episode One: 'The Blanched Cadaver'**

* * *

 **Ria:** *hearts for eyes* So, who saw that last one coming? Which also makes Beth's goddaughter her great-great-great etc _aunt_... And yes, it's going to make for some very interesting emotional dynamics between the four adults next season.

Happy New Year to all our readers!


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